


Psychics, Agents, and Terrorists, Oh My!

by PapayaK



Category: Psych
Genre: Angst, CIA, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Shawn Whump, Shawn has powers, Shawn is really psychic, Telekinesis, Whump, pyrokinesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-03 20:51:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2887454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PapayaK/pseuds/PapayaK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Travel back in time with me to the very beginnings of Psych. </p>
<p>Shawn and Gus recently solved the Spelling Bee case, and now our boys—well—at least Shawn is determined to make Psych indispensable to the SBPD.  Their next case, however, is FAR from what they were expecting.  Will they make it out alive?  </p>
<p>Someone from Shawn’s years of traveling is about to show up and take them down a road they never expected to walk…</p>
<p>Super-extra-special thanks to my fabulous beta, DinerGuy.  She’s full of AWESOME!</p>
<p>(Originally Written for the Secret Santa Debacle of 2014 on Psychfic.com for Singingpurplerose who wanted 'something supernatural' and 'something CIA/FBI'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**oO0Oo**   
**Psychics, Agents, and Terrorists, Oh My!**   
**oO0Oo**

 

Shawn jogged into the police station ahead of Gus. It had been way too long since they’d had a case and he had a good feeling about today. _Today_ Interim Chief Vick would have something for them.

“It’s only been four days since you solved the Spelling Bee case for them, Shawn,” Gus calmly pointed out.

“I know. But it’s just so exciting. I can’t just be sitting around all day.”

“Yeah—but you can’t be asking random strangers at TCBY if they have a crime they want solved either.”

“What if they DID though? They’d totally think I was really psychic!”

“Shhh!” Gus grabbed his arm before anyone in the station could hear his near-confession. “Let’s go see the Chief.”

“ _Interim_ Chief.”

_‘Tsk_ ,’ Gus sucked his teeth. “You call her that.”

Then Shawn turned to peek into the office, trying to see something he could use as a ‘vision’ as soon as he walked in. “Gus, don’t be a…” his voice trailed off. What he saw stopped him cold.

Gus watched as his buddy’s carefree grin faded to be replaced by something in between disbelief and fear. Gus frowned and looked into the office himself wondering what could have caused the change. Inside he saw four people: Chief Vick, Head Detective Lassiter and his new junior partner with whom Shawn loved to flirt, and another woman whom he didn’t recognize. He saw nothing that would cause such a reaction from Shawn. “Shawn…” He turned back to his partner to ask, but the strange expression was completely gone and Shawn was heading towards the exit, the familiar ‘carefree’ grin firmly planted on his face. “Shawn!” Gus jogged to catch up. “What was that about? And why are we leaving? I thought that we were—”

Shawn was all innocence. “Wha-at? I forgot that American Duos is on tonight.”

When Gus only frowned suspiciously, Shawn protested, “I meant to TiVo it but I forgot! I just realized… C’mon, we gotta go. We can get a job later. Maybe tomorrow.” And without waiting for a response, he was gone.

Gus looked back into the office once again. The only thing that was unusual was the guest: a woman, dark haired and wearing a dress that left little to the imagination. She certainly didn’t look dangerous. If she was a criminal, she wouldn’t be in the Chief’s office, so she must be either a victim or a colleague. And from her body language, Gus guessed the latter was more likely.

Then, while he stared, she turned and looked straight at _him_.

He jumped and quickly turned away, heading for the exit. He needed to catch up to Shawn before he was left without a ride. At least that’s what he told himself. Truth was he’d felt very uncomfortable under her scrutiny, however brief it may have been.

Who was that woman?


	2. Chapter 2

oO0Oo

After staring out the window for a moment, the dark haired woman in the slinky dress sat down in the chair across from Chief Vick’s desk. Juliet continued to stand politely to one side while Lassiter leaned his back against the table, his arms crossed and his displeasure clearly apparent.

“You were saying, Ms. Rodriguez?” Chief Vick prompted, addressing the woman. She was trying to disguise her own impatience with limited success.

“I understand that the situation is not ideal,” Ms. Rodriguez continued. “In fact I agree with you—I wish I was able to give you more of the facts about this case. You may not believe me, but I am an advocate of interagency cooperation. I believe that if we have resources that would be beneficial to one another, we should share.”

Lassiter rolled his eyes, clearly not buying her story. Juliet sighed quietly, eyeing her partner and hoping he wouldn’t say anything too inappropriate.

He pushed off the table and approached her. “So let me get this straight. The CIA knows that a… _potential terrorist…_ is in Santa Barbara, but we’re not allowed to know who he is or what he might do?”

She met his gaze squarely. “That’s _my_ job, Detective, as a CIA Special Agent.” She clearly hoped that her emphasis on her title would cow the detective. She obviously didn’t know him at all.

Realizing her mistake, she tried a slightly different tactic. “I _am_ sorry. And I _will_ let you know if there is anything that could possibly involve you. Right now the hope is that he will not do anything, but simply move on. Currently, all we know for certain is that he arrived in Santa Barbara yesterday, and he has not left. If he does, I will inform you.” She stood, effectively bringing the meeting to a close. “The CIA thanks you for your time. We’ll be in touch.” And she sashayed out the door and through the station, gathering more than a few admiring looks on her way out.

Lassiter pushed off the table angrily. “Anything that involves us? Is she kidding? That was a ridiculous waste of time. The CIA has no business here. If they’re after a terrorist and want no help from the police, why stop here at all? She’s not going to tell us anything or let us do anything? It makes no sense!”

TBC...

Juliet blew out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “What kind of agent dresses like that?”

Vick was still looking out the window in the direction the CIA agent had gone. “The dress is most likely part of her cover,” she murmured. She turned back towards her detectives. “But I _can_ tell you there is only one reason she stopped in here today.”

Both detectives looked at her expectantly.

“She wants something.” Karen shook her head and looked at her top detectives. “That’s why the whole nonsense about ‘interagency cooperation.’ She’s certainly not looking to offer us anything. She came in here acting all friendly because sooner or later, she’s going to ask us for something. You can bet on it.”

The three looked grimly towards the station’s exit, wondering what would happen the next time CIA Special Agent Mia Rodriguez walked through their door.

The Chief made an effort to dismiss her concerns and her detectives. “While I am extremely uncomfortable with the idea of a terrorist loose in Santa Barbara, it seems there is nothing we can do about it right now.” She sighed briefly. “You two happen to have a clear slate at the moment. Why don’t you take the afternoon off? Who knows how long this break will last? You’re dismissed,” she finished with a faint smile. “Now get out of here.”

 oO0Oo

Returning to her desk, Juliet immediately began to gather up her things. She relished the thought of an afternoon off. She’d hit the gym first. For once she’d be able to go when it wasn’t packed with the after-work crowd. After that, she’d return to the gun range for some neglected practice and then grab some groceries. She was getting tired of leftovers for breakfast. But then she noticed Lassiter.

She was still getting used to her gruff, angry partner. She was slowly learning to read his cues—to read between the lines. She respected him more every day, even if she didn’t always agree with his methods.

At the moment, he was standing at his desk, scowling into space. His hand was on his coat as if he’d had plans similar to hers but was now rethinking them.

“Carlton?” she asked tentatively.

As if making a final decision, he grabbed his jacket and turned to her. “Take the afternoon, O’Hara. Do what you want. I have something I want to investigate.” And with that announcement, he turned and strode off through the station.

After only a moment’s hesitation, Juliet discarded her plans and, having already gathered her belongings, jogged after him. At the moment, she assumed he was going to look into the supposed terrorist about which the CIA special agent had warned them. Regardless of what her partner was investigating, she was going to investigate it with him.

She caught up to him at his car, and he scowled again when he saw her. “O’Hara—”

She interrupted. “You’re my partner, Carlton.” She said it with such finality that he did not argue. He simply gazed at her, assessing for a beat more, then got in the car.

Once they were on the road though, he spoke quietly without glancing in her direction. “You may not like what I’m about to do.”

Juliet raised her eyebrows at that. “What are we about to do?” She put a slight emphasis on ‘we.’

Carlton blew out a deep breath. “Spencer.” He said the name as if it were a curse. “I don’t trust him. I don’t like him. And I am _certain_ that he is _not_ psychic. If I have to work with him, I would be remiss if I don’t at least check into his activities, and this is the first time I’ve had the opportunity for any kind of investigation. If you have a problem with that, I can drop you off anywhere.”

The whole explanation had come out in a rush which told Juliet that, while he knew what he was doing was inappropriate, he felt compelled to do it anyways.

She considered. If nothing else, investigating the charming psychic should put some of his concerns to rest. Juliet was confident they would find nothing amiss about the man she was beginning to think of as a friend. So, while she wasn’t exactly comfortable with surveilling an innocent civilian, she was ready to go along with it—at least temporarily. “Let’s go,” was all she said.


	3. Chapter 3

When the detectives arrived at the psychic’s home, Lassiter parked down the street as far as he could while still being able to see inside the windows.

Juliet was amused to find that Shawn’s ‘apartment’ was an old paint-your-own pottery shop. The ‘Color Me Mine’ sign above the door was faded and had a hole through the center of one of the ‘o’s, but it was still legible. She wondered how he could stand living in a place that had such large windows across the front. The lack of privacy would drive her crazy. There was very little of his living space that wasn’t visible, even from this far away—a fact with which her partner was no doubt thrilled.

Lassiter pulled out his binoculars and began to watch the psychic through the windows.

Juliet watched too, although without the aid of magnification. “So what is it, exactly, that bothers you about him?” she asked, trying to make her question as nonthreatening as possible.

Lassiter answered without hesitation. “He’s not normal.”

“I don’t think being psychic is generally considered ‘normal,’” was Juliet’s retort.

Lassiter removed the binoculars from his eyes just long enough to roll them. “He doesn’t flinch,” was all the clarification he offered.

Juliet frowned as she was realizing that the man they were watching seemed to be quite agitated. Shawn hadn’t stopped moving since they’d arrived.

She continued her line of questioning. “What do you mean, ‘he doesn’t flinch’?”

“He doesn’t flinch,” Lassiter repeated as if his meaning were obvious. “Civilians flinch. Civilians are completely unprepared for the experiences involved in police work. Civilians flinch, but Spencer doesn’t. I’ve seen a gun go off in close proximity to him on more than one occasion. He doesn’t jump; he doesn’t startle. He barely even blinks.”

Juliet thought about that while they both continued to watch the man in question. He still hadn’t stopped moving. He was pacing back and forth. Occasionally he would pause and begin some activity only to abandon it a moment later to resume pacing. Obviously, something was troubling him. “You know, that may be _because_ he’s psychic, he’s able to anticipate the noise and prepare… What else?” Juliet asked Lassiter when he only scowled.

“Dead bodies,” he continued. “Remember the McMurray murder?”

“Ew!” was her automatic response, but then she had to smile slightly remembering how Shawn had spent the week making up songs including the chorus: _“The McMurray murder, the McMurray murder, the marvelous, macabre McMurray murder…”_ Only he insisted on pronouncing macabre, ‘macab-reh’—emphasis on the ‘reh.’ He’d kept doing it until Gus had punched him in the arm and insisted that Shawn hadn’t heard it both ways.

But Lassiter, oblivious to her thoughts and eyes still glued to the glasses, had continued their conversation without her. “Exactly… Do you know I took great care to make certain that he would not know what kind of scene he would be dealing with until he was actually there?”

Juliet raised her eyebrows at that. That particular body had been discovered _six days after_ the victim’s torso had been cut open from top to bottom. It had been the first and only time she’d had to leave a scene before she lost her lunch.

“His partner—that Guster— _he_ has a perfectly normal— _annoying_ but normal—civilian reaction to a dead body. But Spencer walked in and looked at that mess like it was somebody’s pet cat taking a nap. He didn’t gag; he didn’t turn green… I don’t think he even started breathing through his nose. He didn’t flinch.”

“Again, it may be that he was psychically able to prepare.”

Lassiter growled, “He still has a nose, doesn’t he? And if he was _psychically_ _aware_ of that particular body, why didn’t he let us know about it _before_ nearly a week had passed?”

Juliet thought about that as she watched Shawn, who was now attempting to distract himself with a video game.

“You know when else he doesn’t flinch?” Lassiter continued now that he had an attentive and somewhat captive audience. “I’ve seen a criminal hold a gun to his head, and he doesn’t flinch then either. He should be afraid. He should—I don’t know—scream or hyperventilate… at least tremble. Something a _civilian_ consultant would do. But he just keeps talking until he talks his way out of it. What kind of civilian does that? _And_ he knows the criminal mind… instinctively. I’ve studied criminology for over ten years, and he picks it up without even thinking about it? No one who’s _innocent_ can do that.”

Juliet was careful to keep her sigh to herself. “Do you realize that everything you just said would _also_ describe a talented psychic detective… or a well-trained, experienced cop for that matter?”

“Yeah, but Spencer is _NOT_ —”

It was Juliet’s turn to interrupt. “What’s _she_ doing here?”

Lassiter removed the binoculars from his face to see about whom she was talking.

CIA Special Agent Mia Rodriguez was walking up to Shawn’s front door.

But what struck Juliet was the way that Shawn had stopped moving at the same moment that Rodriguez had appeared _at the end of the block_. He had no windows facing that direction, but the constant motion of the last half hour had ended and he stood frozen. Did he somehow know she was there?

Things got even more puzzling as the CIA special agent walked up and opened the front door without pausing to knock or even to test if the door was locked.

“He was expecting her,” Lassiter commented, raising the binoculars to watch their interaction.

Juliet wasn’t so sure. Shawn had turned to face the agent when she’d entered, and they were now engaged in a rather heated discussion. As the two detectives watched, they began to outright argue, their body language clearly showing that they were very angry and virtually shouting at each other.

Juliet turned away from the scene intending to ask Lassiter if he was still sure that they were working together when he suddenly jerked the glasses into his lap. “Did you see that?” he asked almost breathlessly.

She frowned and shook her head because she hadn’t seen anything terribly unusual.

Lassiter just blinked because he could not accept what he’d just seen. Just as O’Hara had looked away, a small green statue of what may have been a turtle wearing a mask had flown across the room by itself. It left a shelf behind Spencer’s shoulder and flew at Rodriguez only to smash against the wall behind her. It had just missed her head.

And no one had touched it.

“It _couldn’t_ be,” Lassiter breathed.

“What?” Juliet asked, puzzled. She looked back at the two who continued to argue; only now Shawn was making a move. He was leaving. He stopped in the open door to say one last thing to the woman, then he walked out and slammed it behind him. Before walking off, he paused, turned, and looked directly at the two detectives who didn’t have time to duck. He didn’t wave. He didn’t frown. He didn’t acknowledge them in any way, but Juliet didn’t see how he could have missed recognizing them.

Then he shook his head and was gone, walking fast, almost running down the street away from them. He stopped when he got to where he’d parked his bike, hopped on, and tore out of there at a speed that was probably illegal and definitely dangerous.

“What could Shawn Spencer possibly have to do with a CIA agent?” Juliet whispered, almost to herself.

The CIA agent stood in the center of his living room a moment longer, then shrugged, shook her head, and left. She carefully locked the door behind her and strolled off in the direction from whence she’d come.

Lassiter continued to stare.

“Carlton?” Juliet asked. Not having witnessed anything supernatural, she was puzzled by her partner’s reaction.

“You didn’t see that?” he asked her pointedly.

“See _what_?” she asked. She was feeling a little exasperated.

But she was not to be satisfied. Her partner shook his head, started the car and pulled away from the curb; a certain ‘deer in the headlights’ look still on his face.

“Carlton—” Juliet wanted an explanation. “I admit that it’s odd that a CIA agent is arguing with our psychic, but I don’t understand—”

“No, you’re right,” Lassiter interrupted. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I shouldn’t have been spying on him. I’ll take you back to the station. You deserve an afternoon off.”

Juliet knew full well that she was being put off, especially since having their consultant in a shouting match with a federal agent definitely wasn’t ‘nothing,’ but she also knew she wasn’t going to get anything out of her partner that he didn’t want to share.

In the next moment, it no longer mattered because a call came in over the radio that a body had been discovered in a park on the other side of town.

They would be busy for a while.


	4. Chapter 4

Nothing happened for the next two days, at least not where psychics and CIA agents were concerned.

The SBPD, on the other hand, was quite busy. There were now _two_ murdered joggers. They’d been found in different parks, but otherwise the MO was the same. Lassiter and O’Hara were working overtime to find the killer before he struck again. They had several leads and were making some progress, but Juliet was beginning to wonder if maybe they should call in their psychic consultant. She knew her partner would not agree, but he couldn’t deny that Shawn was helpful.

It was odd that she hadn’t seen Shawn since that strange afternoon of surveillance. He and Gus were usually hanging around, even when they weren’t actually on a case. Shawn, especially, seemed to just enjoy the activity in the station. And he also seemed to get a kick out of annoying her partner, a pastime she did _not_ understand.

Before she could decide whether or not she should act on her feeling, Gus walked into the station alone. The way he walked reminded her of a student entering a new high school mid-year, after all the cliques were well established. He definitely did not look like he fit in anywhere, nor like he was sure he ever would.

She went to his rescue. “Hi, Gus!” she greeted him cheerfully. “How’s it going?”

“Um.” Gus walked up as if to speak to her privately. “Have you seen Shawn?”

That question surprised her since she’d gotten the distinct impression that the two friends were rarely apart. “No, I haven’t. Why?”

Gus physically cringed as he admitted, “I haven’t seen him since I dropped him off at his place after we were here on Friday. I don’t know where he is.”

Concerned by the uncertainty she heard in his tone, she asked, “That’s not very long; are you worried about him?”

“Yes—I mean, no!” he stumbled over his words. “I mean… I’m sure he’s just off doing something. It’s just that he didn’t get back to Santa Barbara all that long ago, and I’m not sure that he wouldn’t just leave again.”

Juliet raised her eyebrows. “Without telling you?”

Gus grimaced. “He didn’t last time.”

Another thought occurred to her. “Was Shawn involved with the CIA while he was gone?”

“No!” Gus responded forcefully. “If Shawn was a spy, he’d have told me.”

At that, Juliet had to smile. “I think that’s the opposite of _being_ a spy, Gus.”

“No. No way. If Shawn did something that cool he’d have to tell me. He couldn’t help it.”

Understanding dawned. “Ah, of course. Well, I’m sorry, Gus, but I have to get back to work. I’m sure he’ll turn up.”

“Yeah. I understand. You need to catch that guy. Thanks anyways.” And he left.

oO0Oo

Gus didn’t need to worry much longer. When he got back to the Psych office, Shawn was there.

“Shawn! Where have you been?”

Oddly, Shawn was lying on the couch with a damp washcloth over his eyes, a clear sign of a headache, but Gus was too angry to be concerned.

He pulled off the cloth and blinked up at his buddy. “Around,” was his only response.

“Around? What do you mean, around? I thought you left.”

“Thought about it.” Shawn answered simply, and suddenly Gus wasn’t quite so angry. Something was wrong.

He was reminded of the odd expression Shawn had at the station. “Why?” Gus asked.

“Didn’t want to deal with… stuff.” Shawn replaced the cloth.

“Your dad?” Gus pulled a desk chair near and sat down.

Shawn actually laughed. “Surprisingly… no.” He sat up, letting the cloth fall into his lap. He grimaced and looked out the window, squinting at the sunlight. “You wanna go to a movie?”

“A movie?” Now Gus was certain there was something wrong. Shawn was avoiding the police station, and that was not a good sign. “Shawn, what’s wrong?”

Shawn got up and walked to the fridge, tossing the cloth in the general direction of the sink. “Gus, don’t be the fifth Huxtable kid. Everything’s fine. I just don’t feel like working. Let’s go do something _fun_. You want to get something to eat instead?” Pulling the door open, he raised his hand to reach for a drink, then paused and stood there unmoving long enough for Gus to take notice.

“Are you trying to cool the room, Shawn?” he asked dryly. “I pay for that electricity, you know.”

Shawn didn’t respond. Instead he closed his eyes and the fridge, and his head drooped. He swore quietly.

“Shawn?” Gus did not know what to make of his best friend’s strange behavior. He really wasn’t acting like himself.

“GO AWAY!” Shawn suddenly shouted as he straightened and turned.

Gus’s eyebrows shot up and he stood.

Shawn glanced at him. “Not you,” he said simply, waving a hand in Gus’s direction to say ‘sit back down.’

Then the door opened and the woman Gus had seen at the station on Friday walked in unannounced and uninvited. “You.” Shawn said, apparently finishing his thought.

She ignored Shawn and walked over to his partner, holding out her hand. “Hi, Gus, I’m Mia. I was a friend of Shawn’s when he lived in New York.” She smiled brightly.

Gus hadn’t spent the last few months as a part-time detective for nothing. “You work for the CIA.”

Mia took that right in stride. Although, what trained spy would let on that they had been surprised? “Yes. I do. And so did Shawn. Don’t worry, though. He wasn’t exactly a spy.” And she grinned at Shawn who was staring daggers at her. She sat down next to Gus. “I am so glad to finally meet some of his friends. You’ve been helping him with this detective thing?” She seemed to want to make conversation.

Gus straightened defensively. If Shawn disliked this woman, then so did he. “We’ve solved an impressive number of cases for the SBPD.”

She smiled. “Exactly! And that’s what I want Shawn’s help with. His… _special skills_ helped me a lot in the past, and now I’m on a case right here in Santa Barbara.” She turned to include Shawn. “He could help me stop a very bad man… a potential terrorist, in fact.”

Gus just watched to see how Shawn would react. One of his best friend’s best qualities was his ability to get along with everyone. He rarely got truly angry, and when he did, it was usually at his father. Gus could count on one hand the number of non-family members at whom he’d seen Shawn get really mad, but he was certainly seeing it now.

“Get. Out.” Shawn practically growled.

Mia just smiled at him. She patted Gus’s knee. “I _really_ need his help, Gus. Ask him about it.” And then she got up and walked out.

Shawn stared after her for a long time and Gus knew he was trying to get himself under control, so he waited.

Finally Shawn turned and looked at him, a smile on his face that was a distant cousin to his usual carefree grin. “You want to go to a movie now?”

Gus hesitated a moment because Shawn was using a tired method of deflection and he needed a second to decide if he was going to let him get away with it. “What do you want to see?” he asked, testing.

Shawn gave him all the answers for which he was looking when he responded, “Whatever. You pick.”

Gus frowned in worry. The only time Shawn _didn’t_ have an opinion on what movie they went to see was when he had no intention of actually watching it. He didn’t care because he just wanted to go where it was dark and there was a completely random set of facts on the screen that he didn’t need to absorb and remember. Shawn went to unconsidered movies when he needed to shut down and _not think, not remember_ for a couple hours.

Deciding that—for whatever reason—maybe his buddy _did_ need a break, he relented. “Little Miss Sunshine is playing at the Metro 4. I heard that’s up for an Oscar,” Gus offered.

“Great,” was Shawn’s forced enthusiastic reply. “Let’s go.”

Gus nodded at his friend’s back, concerned. He grabbed the keys to the Blueberry and followed him out the door.

On the way, Gus tried once more to pry answers out of his best friend. “Why don’t you want to work with the CIA, Shawn?” he asked nonchalantly. “It sounds cool.”

Shawn laughed without any humor once again. “It does, doesn’t it?” And he stared out the window for a couple miles.

Gus waited.

“I thought it was… at first,” Shawn almost whispered. “No—that’s not true. It _was_ cool,” he paused, thinking, “at first.”

A large section of Santa Barbara passed by outside.

Shawn sighed. “And I suppose it will be this time, too… at first.” He didn’t complete his thought until they were in the parking lot. “But it’s not. It is by far the worst job I ever had.” And then he was out of the car and would say no more about it no matter what Gus did. Not even the threat of withheld popcorn would loosen his tongue.

Maybe the therapy of a movie would give Shawn the break he needed and improve his mood—and his interest in sharing stories about his past.

oO0Oo

Unfortunately, they weren’t even halfway through the movie when Gus’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out and was surprised to see that Chief Vick was calling. Usually she called Shawn. He looked over at his friend who seemed to be genuinely enjoying the movie and felt guilty about ending his brief respite.

He nudged Shawn’s elbow and showed him the screen of his phone. Shawn shook his head and waved it off, turning back to the screen.

“Shawn,” he whispered, “it could be a job.”

“It is,” Shawn whispered back, earning a dirty look from the guy in front of him. “Just not one that we want.” He returned the man’s glare with interest. “Just ignore it.”

Gus frowned reluctantly but complied.

It wasn’t even two minutes later that his phone buzzed again, and Gus realized that Shawn must have silenced his own phone and hadn’t even left it on vibrate. Who knew how long the Chief had been trying to get ahold of them? His sense of duty overwhelming him, Gus nudged his buddy again, stood, and made his way out of the theater. He had to climb over several people on the way since Shawn had insisted on sitting in the middle of the row.

His phone had stopped ringing, of course, but it started again less than a minute later.

“Yes, Chief?” Gus answered as politely as he could muster; knowing the woman on the other end was likely to be furious.

Surprisingly, she sounded almost apologetic. “Mr. Guster, could you and Mr. Spencer some down to the station as soon as possible?”

Somewhat mollified now that he knew he wasn’t going to get scolded, he tried to please both her and Shawn. “Actually we’re right in the middle of something right now. We should be able to join you in about an hour or so.”

“We really need you here as soon as possible,” was the response, but Gus had the impression that her heart really wasn’t in her demand.

“Of course, Chief, we’ll be there in a few minutes.” As Gus hung up, he suddenly had the feeling that he was juggling invisible objects. He didn’t know why Shawn had apparently had a complete change of heart where their detective agency was concerned. He didn’t understand the Chief’s attitude on the phone and he certainly had no idea how CIA Special Agent Mia fit into all of this. Shawn worked for the CIA?

Gus needed answers.

He decided that the best way to get them was to get Shawn down to the station as soon as possible.

TBC…

A/N We’re almost halfway. I’d really appreciate hearing your thoughts so far…


	5. Chapter 5

A/N - (I hope you’re a at least a little bit familiar with Charlie’s Angels (the original series) or some of this might not make a whole lot of sense.)

oO0Oo

Meanwhile, down at the SBPD, Interim Chief Vick’s prediction had come true: Agent Rodriguez wanted something.

She had shown up demanding the services of their psychic consultant.

Vick was suspicious of the woman’s motives—even more so when she revealed the surprising fact that she had worked with the young Spencer in the past. Plus, until Rodriguez showed up, Vick had had every intention of asking him to help with their current murder case, something she couldn’t do if he was engaged by the CIA. She feared it was only a matter of time before the killer struck again, and the last thing she needed was a serial killer terrorizing her town.

At the moment, a killer who had already taken two lives was more of a problem than some wisp of a threat of _possible_ terrorism.

Part of her hoped Spencer would simply refuse the CIA. Since he was only a consultant and not actually an employee, no one could really _force_ him to do anything. Still, she would be remiss if she didn’t at least try. _If_ this woman was in earnest, and there _was_ a terrorist in Santa Barbara—that was not something she could just ignore.

Agent Rodriguez was staring at her expectantly while she was on the phone.

Finally there was also the fact that in her tenuous ‘interim’ position, it did not do well to antagonize the CIA who would then, no doubt, complain to her superiors.

With Gus’s assurance that they would be there soon, she went back to questioning the agent about the ‘potential terrorist.’

Rodriguez continued to evade.

All she would say was that they had reason to believe that the man was planning an attack which _could_ harm hundreds of citizens on American soil. They didn’t know how (although there was some evidence that he had researched bomb making), they didn’t know where (she was looking into potential targets), they didn’t know why (several agents were analyzing his background). He had already travelled through several cities (there was no reason to believe that Santa Barbara was any more of a target than any others).

At least it was more than she had given them previously, but it still wasn’t much. Karen was absolutely certain that she knew more than she was telling. If they knew who the man was, why didn’t they just bring him in for questioning?

Rodriguez wouldn’t say.

And what was it—exactly—that she wanted from Shawn Spencer?

oO0Oo

Gus walked back into the darkened theater and stood at the end of their row. He waved his arms for a full minute before Shawn reluctantly gave in and looked over at him. He glared pointedly because he knew the delay was purposeful and then gestured and pointed to say, ‘ _we have to go_.’

Shawn shook his head lazily, stuffed his mouth with popcorn, and went back to watching the movie. Gus was trying to be as loud as he could without making any actual noise. The theater was packed, and the people sitting on the ends of the rows near him were already glaring.

Finally Shawn looked again, but this time Gus was ready. He held up his own phone and showed Shawn the screen. Gus had gotten so tired of Shawn losing his phone that he’d installed an app on his own that would cause the lost phone to ‘scream’ even when it was on silent or the battery was dead.

Shawn’s keen eyes saw that the app was on and ready to go. Gus’s finger was hovering over the button that would activate the incredibly annoying sound he’d gotten to know all too well. Looking at the surrounding mob of now seriously annoyed movie-goers, Shawn decided Gus had won this match and he got up, made his way down the row, and followed Gus out of the theater.

And while he was impressed with his buddy for outwitting him, he was also already planning his revenge… Perhaps something involving Central Coast and Gus’s imaginary cat.

It was better than thinking about what Mia was going to make him do.

oO0Oo

Lassiter and O’Hara meanwhile, had made a huge breakthrough in their case: They had finally arrested a suspect.

Neither detective could (or would) spare a moment to consider what was happening with their psychic.

The two dead joggers had only one thing in common: they’d both audited the same online course two years ago. It was a gardening course the community college no longer offered, and since both women had taken it simply for pleasure, neither one had kept any record of it. Lassiter had come upon the information quite by accident.

Only three people had taken the course that summer, so it was only natural that they pay a visit to the third. When they did, the man had acted very suspiciously and evaded most of their questions, so they’d brought him in.

At the moment, they were letting him sweat in interrogation room two while they discussed how best to approach the matter.

oO0Oo

On the drive from the theater to the station, Shawn desperately needed to distract himself from what was coming, so he started an argument with Gus about how, in the movie, Toni Collette had looked just like an older version of Cheryl Ladd.

Gus insisted this was ridiculous (just as Shawn had hoped he would) because Ladd had to be at least twenty years older than Collette.

This of course led to a discussion of older, blond actresses that then digressed into an argument about who was the better Angel, Cheryl Ladd or Farrah Fawcett, and the topic stayed on Charlie’s Angels (the original series) into the parking lot, up the stairs, and into the station. They finally agreed that while Farrah was prettier, Ladd was the better actor, but really—Jaclyn Smith was the best Angel of all time.

Gus was content to let the argument go once they were inside the station, as he wanted to be able to focus on whatever the Chief wanted. He hoped Shawn would drop it as well. Although he did secretly think that Kate Jackson was his favorite Angel.

“Sabrina, Gus? Really?” Shawn stopped and turned back to argue with Gus but that was when he realized his mistake. His best friend’s jaw had dropped and he was staring at Shawn as if he’d grown a second head.

Shawn scrambled to cover his slip. “What?”

“How did you know that?” Gus asked, still staring.

“What? That’s what you _said_ ,” Shawn said simply, desperate for his buddy to believe him.

Gus took two steps closer, inspecting Shawn like he was some sort of new species. “No I didn’t, Shawn. What’s going on with you? Did you really just _hear_ what I was _thinking_?”

“No! Of course not! I—”

“Mr. Spencer!” The Chief, much to Shawn’s relief, had stuck her head out her door and was calling to them.

Shawn spared one last glance at his best friend before he turned on his heel and jogged past the detectives without a single flirt in Juliet’s direction, not even a grin.

Gus stared after his buddy thinking, ‘ _Who **are** you and what did you do with Shawn?’ _ before forcing his feet to follow.

TBC...


	6. Chapter 6

Lassiter and O’Hara noticed the commotion and decided their suspect could stand to wait another five minutes. They followed the psychic and his partner into the Chief’s office purely out of curiosity.

Karen looked pointedly at the pair but did not object.

Her psychic consultant completely ignored the woman seated in front of her desk and addressed her. “Hey, Chief! What can I do for you?”

She smiled lightly at his nonchalance that she was certain was at least partly forced and gestured towards the agent. “Ms. Rodriguez has requested your assistance on a _potential_ issue that has brought her to our city, and I would appreciate it if you would comply.”

Without even a glance in the agent’s direction, Shawn responded casually but immediately, “Sorry, no can do. Psych has a full plate at the moment. Just no time to be helping spies do their dirty work.” He actually turned to leave.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Spencer.” She used her ‘ _I mean business’_ voice and halted Shawn in his tracks. He slowly turned back to face her, and for just a moment she saw something like desperation in her psychic’s eyes. But then it was gone and she wondered if she had seen it at all. She continued, “but I’m afraid whatever you are working on will have to wait. Ms. Rodriguez has informed me that we have a potential _terrorist_ in our midst and that is something I simply _cannot_ ignore. She has requested your help in tracking him down. I understand the two of you have worked together in the past?”

Shawn’s smile concealed gritted teeth. “Yes, I assisted the CIA in a psychic consultant capacity while I lived in New York for a short time.” He still would not look in the agent’s direction. “It was an experience I would prefer _not_ to repeat.”

Karen’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t lose her ‘ _I’m in charge’_ smile. She had never seen the young Spencer act like this. And she really didn’t like having so much happening in her station that she did not understand. Suddenly she _wanted_ him on this case—not only to catch a terrorist, but also just so she could figure out what was going on!

Gus continued to frown at Shawn and everyone else. He’d never seen his buddy like this either, and he was horribly disturbed by what had just happened outside the office.

Lassiter was also staring at the consultant. He’d been distracted from his own unsettling discovery of Spencer’s apparent _abilities_ by their murder case. Now he found himself puzzled by—and almost a little afraid of—the man.

O’Hara looked back and forth between all of them, not understanding _any_ of what was so loudly not being said.

Mia just continued to smile expectantly at Shawn. She had him right where she wanted him and everyone knew it.

Shawn closed his eyes, took a deep breath and exhaled silently, puffing out his cheeks. “Potential terrorist, huh?” he said softly. “Of _course_ it is.” He dug the forefinger and thumb of his right hand into his eye sockets and held them there for what felt like an eternity. Finally he turned to look Mia in the eye, and no one present could have mistaken his expression for anything other than hate.

“Sure, Chief! We’re on the case!” Shawn’s overly cheerful words belied the anger and the pain in his eyes.

After a slight pause to let him know she saw through his act, the Chief answered, “Fine. You and Special Agent Rodrigues can use the conference room as your base of operations.” She turned to her detectives. “Lassiter, O’Hara, your murder case is your top priority, of course, but please assist Mr. Spencer and the agent as you are able.”

Lassiter just stared, but Juliet responded, “Absolutely.”

Dismissed, they all filed out. Everyone kept their distance from Shawn except Mia. Juliet didn’t see a reason to give Shawn space, but she was avoiding the agent, so the pair was pretty much alone when Rodriguez turned to Shawn.

“Solve their case for them,” she commanded quietly, gesturing towards the detectives. “You _know_ we’ll probably need them, and I don’t want them working on anything else.”

Gus was the only one close enough to hear her words. He continued to listen discreetly.

“I’m not _on_ that case,” Shawn answered her sullenly. Then, apparently changing the subject, he continued in a pained, almost frantic murmur, “Why would you do this to me when you _know_ —”

“Shawn.” She put her hand lightly on his arm and he visibly flinched and jerked it away.

“Don’t _touch_ me!” he whispered desperately.

She dropped her hand but not her tone. “Just do it.”

With one more glare in her direction, he put hand to temple and caught the detectives’ attention. “Detective Lassiter!”

They stopped and turned toward him. His eyes were closed and he was frowning in concentration. It was an act very different from the theatrics to which they had become accustomed. “Good job! You got him. Jones, the gardener you arrested, he’s guilty. He’s your killer. When you interrogate him, ask him about… Ms… Alderwood.” He frowned harder and tilted his head, his eyes still closed. “When you want proof… check the bedroom in the… southwest corner of his house.” He opened his eyes. “If you look in the west window, you should be able to see enough to give you cause to enter—or at least enough to get you a search warrant.” A small but genuine grin quirked the corner of his mouth. “Who knew that a new color of tulip could be _that_ profitable?

Juliet smiled at him, but Lassiter’s eyes narrowed. “How can you know that, Spencer?” he asked. “And why aren’t you flailing around and making a fool of yourself?”

At that, Shawn’s grin spread. “Why, Lassie-loo! I’m psychic, remember? And I never put more… enthusiasm… into my reveals than they require. The spirits are bored with this one.”

To Gus’s ears, the word ‘psychic’ came out bitterly. He immediately began working on getting his buddy away from this strange woman. They needed to talk.

oO0Oo

An hour later, the two friends were finally in the Blueberry on their way back to Psych. Gus had spent that hour quietly listening to Shawn and the CIA agent going over the information she had on the whereabouts of their suspected terrorist, which actually — suspiciously — sounded like not much. Other than squirming in his seat occasionally, Shawn had been subdued and disciplined, very un-Shawn-like.

Gus kept thinking of ways to break the silence between them. He kept opening his mouth to speak but then he’d think better of it and close it again.

Shawn would have laughed at his goldfish impersonation, except he had a pounding headache, and was just generally miserable about this latest turn of events. He was seriously considering getting on his bike as soon as they reached Psych and taking off for good. The only thing that kept him from the decision was the same fact that had brought him back earlier in the day: it wouldn’t help.

Mia was CIA—even if he left the country, she could find him if she wanted to, just like she would eventually find the terrorist. It would do him no good to run. His best option now, was to solve this thing just as quickly as he could and then figure out a way to get her out of his life permanently.

Finally they reached the office without either of them breaking the silence.

Once inside though, Gus couldn’t stand it anymore. He went for the direct approach.

“Shawn.” Gus turned and faced him. “Are you psychic?”

“No,” was the immediate answer.

“Did you ‘hear’ what I was thinking about Kate Jackson?”

Shawn closed his eyes. He could lie… but he just didn’t have the energy.

“You did!” Gus exclaimed. “You _are_ psychic! Shawn-”

“I’m not,” Shawn interrupted him.

“You are!”

“Not.”

“Are!”

“Not!”

“Shawn!”

The two friends stared at each other. Gus intense, excited, and a little nervous, Shawn sad, regretful and resigned.

“Can you ‘hear’ me now?” Gus was obviously ‘thinking’ something at him.

“No,” was Shawn’s tired response and he plopped down on the couch and put his head in his hands.

“How ‘bout now?” Gus sat next to him, a pained expression on his face as he thought harder.

“Dude!” Shawn protested, “You’re gonna bust something! I can’t hear you.”

“But you did.” Gus sounded the tiniest bit disappointed. Where Lassiter was a little afraid of Shawn’s ‘powers,’ of course Gus would be excited by them.

Shawn almost hated to disappoint him. “It’s her,” he finally admitted.

Gus straightened, frowning. “Her? Who her? That CIA agent?”

Shawn nodded, closed his eyes, and rubbed at his temples, trying to relieve his headache.

Gus pursued, “What do you mean ‘it’s her’?”

Shawn looked at him and sighed, lay back against the couch, and closed his eyes again. “She makes it so I can hear people’s thoughts.”

“ _She’s_ psychic?” Gus asked incredulously.

“No…” Shawn shook his head at the absurdness of it all. “She’s… empathic.”

“What—like on Star Trek?”

Shawn nodded.

“She can tell what people are feeling not what they’re thinking?”

Another nod.

“But you’re really psychic whenever she’s close to you?” Gus was trying to get this all straight in his head. His friend had actual, genuine superpowers—but they had very strange limitations. “How does _that_ work?” he asked.

Shawn tried to clear things up for his buddy, but it wasn’t that easy. “It’s not… I… I don’t know.”

“Shawn…” Gus demanded.

Resigned, his eyes still closed, Shawn went back to the beginning. He spoke so softly, Gus leaned in to hear.

“I was in New York doing this bicycle courier thing. It was an _awesome_ job… zig-zagging through New York traffic is a rush, man.” His voice stayed soft as he got to the heart of the matter. “One day, I was on a delivery and everything got… loud. I mean, New York is always loud, you know? But the voices… so many voices… so loud. I thought at first there must be a parade or a protest or something, but… then I realized: I was hearing their _thoughts_.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I was so… distracted I rode out in front of a truck.” He swallowed at a memory that must have been terrifying. And Gus knew the memory was vivid, as well. 

He continued, slightly above a whisper. “Traffic was heavy so the truck wasn’t going very fast, but it was the end of my courier days. Broke my arm… Bike was trashed. And I was freaking out! _I could hear what people were thinking_ —and I gotta tell you, New Yorkers do not think nice thoughts generally.”

Gus pursed his lips and nodded his agreement. That seemed likely.

“Then _she_ was there. She came out of nowhere,” Shawn continued. “She touched me and it was like… _electric_. Like an explosion in my brain. Shocked her, too. The connection is… intense when we touch. We were in each other’s heads. I thought I’d died and that was hell—or I’d somehow lost it. I mean, really lost it. I thought I was crazy. An ambulance came eventually, but she got me to some CIA med lab instead. They fixed my arm and shrank my head. They said I really am psychic—like, born that way, believe it or not—but it’s only when her mind… ‘touches’… mine that I can actually do stuff.”

He opened his eyes and looked at Gus. “I’m not supposed to tell you any of this.”

Gus’s eyes were wide.

“I wasn’t supposed to tell you that much.” He sat up and faced his best friend. “I’m serious… technically they could put me in prison for telling you this, and believe me, they _would_. You _gotta_ keep this quiet.”

Gus nodded. The two of them had been playing at being spies for years. They’d already discussed how they would keep state secrets even under _the duress of torture_ , so Gus felt like he was prepared. It figured that Shawn would get the real thing and then not tell him. He snorted in frustration. “I can’t _BELIEVE_ you didn’t tell me about this!”

“You don’t want to know.” Shawn turned his head and his eyes took on the faraway look that Gus rarely saw but always recognized. Shawn was lost in a bad memory—really bad.

His voice softened. “Shawn?”

Shawn blinked and looked back at him, memory banished, low-wattage version of the usual spark ignited. “In the meantime, this should be pretty good for business.” He smiled reluctantly.

“What do you mean?”

“ _This_ is the fun part. You’ll see. The more time I spend with her, the stronger I get.” He waved a hand at his head. “By this time tomorrow, just having her in town will be enough.” But from the way he said it, Gus knew he didn’t really consider it a good thing.

“Why do you hate her?” Gus asked.

“I don’t… _hate_ … her. I just… I hate what happened when…” He paused when he realized that if he started _that_ story he would have to finish it. “I hated working with her,” he evaded.

Gus continued to question him, but he didn’t get many more answers. An hour later, he dropped Shawn off at his apartment and went home to dream about being a mind-reading spy.


	7. Chapter 7

During the next two days, Shawn solved twelve separate cases. Four were for the SBPD, not including the serial killer. Lassiter and O’Hara had found more than enough evidence in the back bedroom to which Shawn had directed them. They would have no trouble getting him convicted for triple homicide. The teacher of the gardening class, Ms. Alderwood, had been the first one he killed but the last victim found. Her body had been in the basement.

The other eight were for Psych, although those cases were mostly cheating spouses and lost items. Half the time, the client didn’t even need to finish explaining. One woman didn’t even get to start. She walked in and Shawn took one look and told her that her husband wasn’t cheating; he had lost his job and was working on finding a new one, which was why he was gone at odd hours. She smiled, thanked them, and wrote a check.

As soon as she was gone, Shawn just grinned at Gus’s expression and grabbed a tissue because his nose was bleeding again.

Gus had bugged him about the nosebleeds, which, while never severe, were getting more frequent ever since Mia had showed up. He dismissed it, saying it was worse last time and the CIA docs had told him not to worry about it. It was only bad if he started bleeding from his _ears_. Gus cringed and said no more about it.

oO0Oo

Typically, when Shawn was faced with an unpleasant situation, he did one of two things: he ran or he found some way to entertain himself. Running was, by far, his preference, but since he simply couldn’t do that this time, he resigned himself to finding a way to enjoy this. Plus, as long as he was having fun, he’d be able to distract himself from… _other things._ Gus recognized the distraction tactic even if he didn’t know what Shawn was avoiding.

Solving cases _was_ fun. Solving cases was _always_ fun, and now he could do it almost instantaneously.

That first afternoon, after he’d solved his second case of the hour, Juliet stood a little too quickly to gather her things and go make the arrest. She bumped the coffee cup she’d filled only a few minutes before. She gasped and went to grab it, knowing she’d get hot coffee all over her hand, and probably her papers. But the coffee cup stopped on its edge and balanced at almost a forty-five degree angle. The slosh of coffee seemed to hit an invisible wall and then slopped back into the cup, which sat back down gently enough to keep the coffee inside.

She gasped and stared wide eyed. Then she looked up and around at the station. Shawn was carefully facing the other way, but when she looked at him, he turned and sent her the slightest knowing smile. The truth was, he couldn’t resist at least suggesting that maybe it was him. She stared at him aghast.

Shawn turned his back to her nonchalantly and walked away, a huge grin on his face, and looked for another trick to pull, another case to solve. He saw Buzz standing still and frowning, obviously in thought, and said one phrase: “On top of your locker.”

Buzz’s face broke into a huge grin. “Thanks, Shawn!” he said as he went to retrieve the card he’d bought Francie that morning and misplaced.

Lassiter, of course was his favorite mind to read. The detective had misplaced a post-it note on which he’d written an important phone number pertaining to his latest case. He sat down at his desk and began to search as Shawn perched a hip on the next desk over.

“Nope.” He said as Lassiter pulled open a drawer. “Nope. Nope. Nope.” He continued as every drawer in the desk was opened and searched.

Lassiter did his best to ignore the annoyance, but every mosquito eventually gets slapped. “Spencer!” he finally growled.

Shawn just grinned at him and awaited the inevitable.

“You _don’t_ know what I’m looking for and you _don’t_ know where it is!” Lassiter nearly shouted as he slammed the last drawer shut and stood.

Shawn crossed his arms lazily. “Not in the car, either, Lassie.”

Fists formed at the detective’s sides as he just glared.

The consultant grinned. “Do you want me to tell you where the magic little yellow square is or should I just tell you the phone number?” Shawn stood and leaned in conspiratorially. “Or should I save time and just tell you who your culprit is?”

It occurred to Shawn that if this were a cartoon, smoke would be pouring out of Lassie’s ears, so he grinned wider.

Lassiter turned and stormed out.

Shawn took pity on him—and annoyed him at the same time—so he considered it a win-win. “You stuck it in your little notebook, Lassie!” he called after him.

The detective paused, but did not stop or turn around.

It was then that Shawn noticed Juliet was also glaring at him, so he resolved to make it up to Lassie later. And to make certain Jules saw him do it.

oO0Oo

In the meantime, Gus watched.

He didn’t see the little trick with the coffee cup, or the other little sleight of hand tricks Shawn was pulling all over the station just to entertain himself. What he did see was this new version of his buddy fighting through vicious headaches and frequent nosebleeds to solve cases like he’d never seen before. He continued to be equal parts worried and excited.

The third day since Agent Rodriguez had entered their lives was a Wednesday. Shawn solved six cases that day. Gus’s only complaint was that they couldn’t get paid when Shawn solved cases for random strangers who hadn’t even hired them yet. Gus had dragged him away from the station for smoothies—another extremely unusual occurrence as Gus was usually the one being dragged—and Shawn had told the woman in line ahead of them where her lost engagement ring was.

He was beginning to understand what a fearsome combination Shawn’s customary, impressive skill set _along with_ actual psychic-ness could be. _He was unstoppable_. Gus was amazed and his excitement was beginning to eclipse his concern.

Shawn’s powers were growing. He’d told Gus privately, that soon it wouldn’t matter what intel they had on the terrorist’s location—he’d find him by simply ‘seeing’ him.

Gus loved it when Shawn used words like ‘intel.’

“But I thought you didn’t want to do this?” Gus challenged him.

Shawn just laughed it off. “What— _this_?” He waved his arms around at the station. “ _This_ is the fun part.” And he dismissed any thoughts of the ‘not fun’ part. He _was_ having a good time.

Why spoil it with thoughts of just how _horribly wrong_ things could go?

oO0Oo

Juliet O’Hara was having a very good day. Everything seemed to be falling into place for her. Every pencil and paperclip she needed while doing her paperwork was right at her fingertips. There was always a pot of fresh coffee when she wanted a cup. And when she dropped her favorite pen and it rolled toward the vent in the floor that had claimed her last two good pens, she sighed. But the pen stopped. Right on the edge of the seemingly bottomless pit, it stopped. When she got up to get it, she looked around the station, and yes—just as she’d suspected, there was Shawn Spencer, heading toward the exit, a certain spring in his step.

oO0Oo

Wednesday night, a man came to Psych to ask if his partner in business was embezzling from their company. That one took Shawn all of four minutes to solve: Yes he was, and he had some very violent tendencies, so please, inform the police before you confront him.

But, as much fun as they were having, Gus couldn’t ignore the toll all of this awesomeness was taking. Shawn was quieter, more serious. He was less… Shawn-ish, and Gus regularly caught him in sober contemplation. He was also in pain most of the time and popping aspirin like candy. Gus decided that, while having a friend with superpowers was pretty incredible, he really didn’t care for the side effects.

Shawn agreed, but insisted they would soon fade. Probably.

The other thing Gus noticed was the effect Mia was having on everyone else. She was slowly but surely winning them over. She seemed much more approachable since she’d ditched her form fitting dresses for a more business casual look.

Being empathic, she knew what everyone was feeling and therefore could say exactly what they wanted to hear. To Vick, she was a fellow woman in a position of power, but careful to defer to the Chief in just the right amount. Karen tolerated her as long as she didn’t overstep her bounds where the people under her command, and therefore her protection, were concerned.

To Juliet, she was a friend who understood what it was to be a woman in a man’s world… from birth. Apparently she had older brothers too—although Gus had his doubts about the truth of that one. Juliet didn’t care too much for Special Agent Rodriguez, but she was truly impressed with Shawn’s new level of psychic-ness, although the significance of the fact that his new, _improved_ gifts and the agent had appeared simultaneously was not lost on her.

Even Lassiter was slowly but surely being won over. Gus wasn’t sure whether it was her extensive knowledge of weaponry, the way their solve rate had skyrocketed even above its usual impressiveness, or her calming effect on Shawn, but the head detective was slowly beginning to at least tolerate the agent.

Lassiter’s attitude toward Shawn was changing, too. He continued to be wary and _annoyed_ , but the fact was he loved solving cases and putting bad guys behind bars, and if he used the annoying psychic to do it, that was just another example of a good detective using the assets he had available. He had seen no further evidence of any telekinetic powers.

 _That_ was a fact Shawn was careful to protect. He’d ‘heard’ Lassiter’s thoughts about his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle figurine nearly striking Mia, and he didn’t want to encourage that kind of attitude. He knew he needed, if not Lassiter’s approval, then at least his tolerance to continue working with the SBPD. Plus the whole event had been an example of him losing control of his abilities—and that was something he simply _could not allow_.

Carlton’s factual, detail-oriented mind could not just dismiss what he knew he’d seen. Head detectives simply did not see things that weren’t real, but he was getting quite good at not thinking about it. Plus, admitting that Shawn Spencer was actually psychic and might even have telekinetic powers would mean giving the man his respect, and that was another thing he flatly refused to do.

Since Gus knew that Agent Rodriguez was actually an empath, she was nearly powerless over him.   He tried to remain suspicious of her, but she didn’t make it easy. Shawn didn’t dislike people for no reason. And Gus trusted his best friend a lot more than he trusted the spy. But she was so nice, and she seemed to sincerely care about Shawn, and it really was amazing what they were able to do together.

Even he was starting to question why Shawn disliked her so.

But on Thursday, everything changed.

oO0Oo

Thursday evening, after another exciting day of solving cases, Special Agent Rodriguez _insisted_ that Shawn accompany her into the conference room. His response was to simply glare at her for a while.

Only Gus knew that she was actually ‘talking’ to him in a way only Shawn could hear. Finally, he nodded, his shoulders slumped and he followed her into the room. She closed the door and pulled the shades. Not even Gus was invited along. He, Lassiter and O’Hara watched them disappear.

They were only in there for fifteen minutes, but when they came out, they knew where the terrorist was and what he was planning.

Shawn had ‘divined’ that he was holed up in an old, run-down, rent-by-the hour-or-by-the-month hotel in a bad part of town, and he wasn’t putting together a bomb. He had somehow come into possession of several canisters of a very deadly gas.

If the gas were released, everyone within fifty yards would die with their first breath of it. Those within a hundred yard radius would have an hour to live; those within a mile, a day. Beyond that, it depended on a person’s state of health, but potentially, everyone within five miles would eventually sicken or even die. In the city of Santa Barbara, that meant thousands of people were in danger.

He was in the process of using the canisters to build a device similar to a dirty bomb. It looked to Shawn as if he planned to equip it with a timer and a backup detonator so that he could set it off whenever he chose.

They also had a list of potential targets, but apparently, not even the bomber was quite sure yet where he would strike.

Their only comfort in this was that he wasn’t finished building. Shawn had divined that the terrorist—Abeed Naijar was his name—believed he wouldn’t be ready for at least a day or two. That gave them a little time.

When they came out to share their findings with their impromptu taskforce, Gus looked at Shawn closely, and immediately saw that whatever she’d made him do, it had completely exhausted him. His eyes were bloodshot, and while he’d tried to clean it up, Gus could see traces of yet another nosebleed. He was breathing shallowly and looked ready to drop.

That was when he made the decision to get Shawn out of the station for the rest of the night. Mia agreed and had the grace to look apologetic. She said that there were a lot of preparations to be made that Shawn couldn’t help with anyway. Gus didn’t really much care, at the moment, about terrorists or preparations. He needed to look after his buddy.

Lassiter was now fully on board with working with the CIA. There wasn’t really much else to do after all—all of their current cases had been cleared. He was just glad they could make their plans without Shawn around.

Juliet watched the two leave with a concerned expression on her face. She still didn’t understand what was going on with Shawn, but she knew it wasn’t all good. She was tempted to step in and offer whatever help she could, but she wasn’t sure how it would be received.

Once again she was glad he had Gus.

TBC…

 


	8. Chapter 8

A/N Hats off to TheShulesLovinPsycho for her excellent prediction.

oO0Oo

Gus and Shawn were walking out to the car. Shawn was subdued and seemed to be watching his feet. Gus was tempted to put a hand on his elbow to make sure he didn’t run into something when suddenly Shawn stopped. He rested his hand lightly on Gus’s arm, causing him to pause as well. “G… Gus…” was all he said, but the tone of his voice told Gus volumes. They were in danger. And Shawn was afraid.

Gus fearfully looked around. He couldn’t see anything amiss.

Then a man in a dark suit and tie stepped out of the shadows holding a pistol equipped with a silencer. It was pointed at Gus.

“So you’re the psychic duo everyone’s talking about; the pair that _ruined my life_.” He took two steps closer and then stopped.

Gus couldn’t help but be impressed. The man had found the _one_ place in the deserted police station parking lot that wasn’t well lit, and every window was obscured by the nearby bushes and overhanging trees. He had come close enough to them so that he couldn’t miss, but stayed far enough away to make any attempt at stopping him impossible.

Gus kept expecting Shawn to start talking—and talk their way out of it like he usually did—but he didn’t. He just kept looking at the man; staring really, his eyes narrowed and dark.

“Look,” Gus made his own attempt at distraction, “I don’t know what you want, but—” 

The man chuckled, and it was not a happy sound. “I want to kill you, Mr. Guster. I’m going to kill you to prove I mean business and then the psychic is going to tell me everything I need to know to avoid arrest. If he doesn’t, I will kill him, too. I am not going to prison.”

Gus glanced at Shawn, but he was still staring silently. “I don’t even know who you are!” Gus claimed.

“ _He_ does…” The gun jerked briefly in Shawn’s direction before returning to point steadily at Gus’s heart. “If he’s really psychic, that is.”

“Oh, he is,” Gus responded, wondering what their best move was here. Surely some cop would wander by… soon?

“Just… don’t,” Shawn said darkly, still frowning. Then, “ _Please_ …” He whispered it so softly, Gus wondered if their assailant was the intended recipient. “ _Please don’t make me…”_ The plea sounded desperate.

The man looked at Shawn. “Say goodbye to your friend.” Then he looked back at Gus and pulled the trigger.

The gun went off with a ‘thwup’ kind of noise and a window shattered somewhere behind them.

Having closed his eyes, Gus wasn’t really sure what had happened. He was still standing. Shawn was still standing next to him, but their would-be killer was on the ground, both hands covering his face which was badly scratched, and his nose was bleeding.

Coincidentally, so was Shawn’s, but he ignored it.

Instead Shawn bent over, retrieved the dropped gun, and pointed it at the man. “Go get Lassie, will you?” he asked Gus quite calmly.

Gus stared. “What did you—”

“Get Lassie, please, Gus,” Shawn interrupted quietly.

As it turned out, it wasn’t necessary. A young officer had been outside, although out of sight, and had heard the sound of a silenced pistol. He’d come to investigate and when he’d seen what was happening, he made a run for the station. They would be surrounded by police in a moment.

Gus made use of that moment. “Shawn?”

“Yes, Gus?”

“What did you just do?”

“That guy was going to shoot you so I stopped him. I didn’t hurt him—” Then Shawn considered the bleeding nose, blackened eyes and generally lacerated face and finished on, “much.”

Gus was about to ask ‘how?’ but then the cavalry arrived. Lassiter was there, gingerly taking the gun from Shawn’s hands and looking at him strangely. As soon as the gun was out of his hands and the man was in cuffs, Shawn sat down. Only he didn’t so much sit as fall on his butt.

“Shawn!” Gus knelt next to him. Shawn was trembling, although whether from the adrenaline rush of barely keeping his best friend from being killed or simple exhaustion, Gus didn’t know. “Are you okay?” he asked, offering Shawn one of the tissues he’d started carrying with him.

“Can we go home now?” Shawn asked softly, wiping at his nose. He sounded just like a little boy. Gus cringed in sympathy.

“Spencer!” Lassiter shouted at him. “Who is this and what is going on?”

Without looking up, Shawn informed Gus quietly, “He’s our embezzler… from yesterday. Remember?” He put out a hand and Gus helped him to his feet. “ _You_ tell them…” And he stumbled to the Blueberry, practically asleep on his feet.

oO0Oo

After explaining as much as he could to Lassiter, Gus drove Shawn home. He stopped at a drive thru that was open late. He knew Shawn hadn’t eaten much all day and needed some food before he went to bed. He was dying to ask exactly how he’d stopped the man with the gun, but his buddy had fallen asleep before Gus had gotten in the car.

When they got to Shawn’s apartment, Gus woke him and practically had to drag him inside. Once he ate some tacos though, he perked up a little.

“So, you wanna tell me what you did?”

“No.”

Gus smacked his lips in frustration. ‘ _Tsk!’_ “Shawn!”

“I didn’t hurt anybody!”

Gus frowned at his insistence—no one had accused him of that. “I’m not sure our friend on the ground back there would agree with you,” he said dryly.

Shawn glared at him. “Well, he should.”

“If you don’t tell me what you did, I’ll tell your dad what happened to his table saw.”

Shawn looked at his buddy for a moment, wondering if those incredible, edible pineapple sculptures were worth his father’s wrath and sighed. They weren’t. And Gus would find out somehow anyway.

Reluctantly, Shawn raised his hand and pointed at the TV remote that was sitting on a shelf in the kitchen between two cereal boxes. It flew across the room and smacked into his palm. He calmly flicked on the TV.

Gus was speechless.

His silence didn’t last long, though. “Do it again.”

The fridge opened by itself and a water bottle came out, turned on its side and flew at Gus like a missile. It stopped inches from his face and then turned upright and settled gently on the table.

Gus had gasped and tried to jerk out of the way, but the bottle had followed his motions. Now he looked at Shawn who was smirking at him while the bottle opened itself.

“Shooter McJones wasn’t expecting a tree branch to smack him in the face either,” was Shawn’s deadpan comment.

Gus hopped up on his knees on the couch, excited. “Okay” he waved his hands. “So that’s how you stopped him. _That_ is totally cool. What else can you do?”

“I’m pretty sure I can do a ‘Firestarter’ thing. But it freaks me out _way_ too much. I don’t like to try.”

Gus sobered just a little. “Does this give you headaches and nosebleeds, too?”

Shawn shrugged. “Not really. Not this little stuff. Once I stopped a car that was going to crash— _that_ one hurt. But stuff like this is no big deal.”

Gus chuckled. “Hand me my keys?”

The keys launched themselves off the table as if they’d been tossed. Gus caught them easily. He laughed and shook his head. “It’s _amazing_.” He tried to think of something more complicated. “I forgot my phone in the car,” he challenged.

Shawn closed his eyes, brought fingers to temples, and frowned, concentrating. In a moment Gus heard the electronic beep that signaled his doors being unlocked. Then he heard the car door open and close and the double beep that meant his car was once again secure. Soon the front door opened, and so did Shawn’s eyes. They both watched as Gus’s phone landed on the table in front of them.

Gus just shook his head in wonder. “Dude… Why did you _ever_ leave New York?”

But that was the wrong thing to say. Shawn’s carefree grin, the first real one Gus had seen in several days disappeared. He stood abruptly and strode into the kitchen away from his best friend.

Gus frowned. Shawn’s history with the CIA had concerned him from the moment he learned about it. And Shawn had been zealously avoiding the subject—never a good sign. It was time to finally get some answers. He got up and solemnly followed his friend. “Shawn?” he asked softly.

Shawn was leaning, both hands on the edge of the sink and staring out the window above it. A large spoon hanging on a hook behind him was quietly but insistently tapping a rhythm against the wall—an outward and apparently unintentional appearance of usually internal energy.

“Shawn? What happened?” Gus asked gently. “Why did you quit the CIA?” As he spoke, he put his hand on Shawn’s shoulder.

The instant he touched his friend, he was sucked into Shawn’s mind. Suddenly he could _see_ the room as he never had before.

He knew precisely where every single thing was. He knew how many chairs there were around the table, how many cross pieces each chair had, and which one needed some repair. He saw the loose thread in the rug. He knew what was hanging on the walls, and based on the accumulation of dust he could tell how long each one had hung in its spot. He knew how many windows and doors there were, what flavors of cereal were on the shelf…

He jerked his hand away as if he’d been burned. But there was more— _so much more_ about the room in which they stood. He’d never realized before, how much there was to notice about a room.

Was that what it was like for Shawn _all the time_? _Always_ seeing _everything_?

Shawn had turned towards him and was studying him seriously. He actually had a hand out as if ready to assist Gus if he became overwhelmed by the experience. “No. Not always. This is what Mia does.” He waved his hands vaguely at the room. “It’s always kinda like that, the stuff I can’t help seeing—but this is _more_ … a lot more intense.” Seeing Gus was okay, he resumed his stare out the window.

Gus shook his head, more shaken than he cared to admit. He could easily see where that level of observational skill would be useful to an investigator… or a spy... but it would also be a burden. The psychic ability to _see_ added to Shawn’s _in_ ability to forget.

How could a person stand that level of information constantly pouring into his brain?

But of course, he didn’t need to speak. Shawn heard his thoughts. “Now you know why I get headaches.” Shawn continued to watch out the window. “You’re not going to let this drop are you?”

“No,” was the quiet answer. “My best friend has _superpowers_ and could rid this city of crime… _completely_ , as far as I can tell. But he doesn’t want to.” Gus put all of his friendship, concern, and puzzlement into his words. “I don’t get it. You’re an amazing detective, Shawn, _incredible…_ and you always will be. But you could do even _more_ as a real psychic.” He continued more strongly even though Shawn already knew what he was about to ask. “Why don’t you?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Shawn. That’s not an answer. Plus it’s ridiculous! I saw how much fun you were having these last few days. You love it—”

“I don’t want to!” Shawn spoke through his friend’s tirade.

Gus continued without pausing, oblivious. “You love reading their minds and solving their problems, and you loved moving stuff _with your mind_!” Gus didn’t realize it but in his excitement with the situation and his frustration with Shawn, his voice was steadily rising.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Shawn commented simultaneously with his best friend’s words.

Gus didn’t hear.

“You are a bona fide _superhero_ , Shawn! Why would you _ever_ hide that?” Gus was nearly shouting now.

“ _Because I killed someone!!_ ” Shawn turned and shouted back at him. And the spoon that had been tapping flew off its hook and into the window hard enough to shatter it.

Gus ducked instinctively, but Shawn didn’t flinch.

He never flinched.

When Gus straightened again, the two friends just stared at each other.

“I killed someone, Gus.” Shawn whispered desperately. “My… my _superpowers_ – as you call them—I… I lost control… They tried to train me, teach me to use them but… He was _dead_ , Gus. Because of me. _Because of **me**_.” Shawn looked at him for a beat more, his expression bleak, his eyes red. He was shaking his head. “Gus— _I CAN’T! I can’t save them!”_ Then he brushed past him and disappeared out the front door. A moment later Gus heard his bike start up and roar off into the night.

TBC…


	9. Chapter 9

oO0Oo

Gus wasn’t sure just how long he stood in Shawn’s kitchen. A soft breeze blowing in through the shattered window tossed the curtains gently.

He stood there, working hard to put aside his own shock and amazement at everything he’d just experienced. He’d listened to the sound of Shawn’s bike driving away much faster than it should have been.

The engine had faded into the night until there was no sound but crickets and the occasional passing vehicle.

He shouldn’t have pushed. He understood that now, as much good as it did him.

He _knew_ that Shawn was like a rubber band: the harder you pulled, the farther he would fly in the opposite direction. He’d known it since they were eleven. That was the first time he’d pushed. He’d forced Shawn to admit that his parents were fighting.

All that his fifth-grade-self had known was that something was bothering his best friend and he’d been determined to get to the bottom of it.

Afterward, Shawn had run away and ‘camped’ in a nearby park for two nights. His parents, frantic about his safety, had joined together in the search—an alliance that lasted almost a month after their son was home safe.

Gus wondered how long Shawn would be gone this time.

Days? Weeks? _Years_ would not be unprecedented…

And all the while, there was a terrorist threatening Santa Barbara.

A terrorist that Shawn could find and stop.

The SBPD were a talented bunch, and they could _probably_ succeed without their psychic consultant.

Gus wasn’t sure that ‘probably’ was good enough in the face of terrorism.

He truly regretted pushing and accepted that if the terrorist wasn’t found and stopped, he would be at least partly to blame.

But he also knew that it would do him no good to chase after a Shawn who didn’t want to be found.

It was late. The sun would be up in a few hours. The terrorist wasn’t yet ready to attack. Gus reluctantly went home to bed.

But in the morning, he was going to get some answers from a certain CIA agent. He couldn’t care less about ‘national security.’ This was _Shawn_ they were talking about.

Gus would have his answers.

Who had Shawn killed… and why?

oO0Oo

Bright and early, after only a few hours’ sleep, Gus was back at the SBPD. Juliet was there, sipping coffee. Head Detective Lassiter was just coming in the door, his own cup of coffee in hand.

Mia was there. (Thankfully! Gus wasn’t completely sure how long he could maintain his ‘I need answers or else’ attitude.) She was in the conference room sorting through files on their suspect.

He pushed the door open and strode into the room.

“Hi Gus! You’re here early. I was just going to—”

Gus walked up and pushed the files in her hand back down on the table. “What happened to Shawn?”

At least Mia had the grace to look flustered. She could clearly feel the strong emotions that Gus was forcing at her. “What? I don’t… What happened?”

Gus glared. “He told me he _killed someone_. And I am in a unique position to understand just how _devastating_ that would be— _especially_ for him.” He paused to let that sink in. “You’re going to tell me what happened.”

Mia huffed out a sigh and plopped down into a nearby chair. “He told you that?”

“I didn’t give him much choice.”

“He wasn’t supposed to.”

“He’s not himself. He hasn’t been himself since _you_ showed up.” Gus sat down across from her, not caring that the two detectives were now listening in. In fact, he disliked confrontation enough that he was grateful for the backup, knowing that they—that even Lassiter—would be on Shawn’s side. “I want some answers.”

Mia looked at him and then at the detectives in the doorway. She sighed. “I can’t give you any details.”

“That’s fine,” Lassiter responded as he and Juliet joined the pair at the table.

Interim Chief Vick had noted the commotion and quietly entered the room. She waved them off with a pay-no-attention-to-me gesture and leaned against the wall to listen.

Special Agent Mia Rodriguez looked around at the odd group of Shawn’s friends and began her story. “Shawn was… _is_ an incredibly talented psychic. The best we’d ever seen. He’s one of the few triple threats the CIA has ever had… and by that I mean that he’s not _just_ psychic.” She ignored Lassiter’s scoff and continued. “He solved _a lot_ of important cases. Saved a lot of lives. Stopped more terrorist plots than the American public would care to know about. He was amazing! But then?” She looked around at the three of them, and then got up to shut the door.

“We were after a suspected terrorist… not unlike this one. We’d just finished a big case and we’d been given this guy to investigate because no one thought he was really any threat. Our boss wanted to give us a break – of sorts. Well, it didn’t take long for Shawn to realize that this guy was anything but harmless.”

They all leaned in to listen.

She continued. “Our suspect was working alone, not tied to any cell or other terrorist group, so no one thought he could do much damage, but Shawn ‘saw’ that he had a…” She stopped as she realized she was about to give an awful lot of forbidden detail and reworded. “Shawn saw that he _could_.” She let the emphasis soak in. “But we had no proof to justify additional resources, so only the two of us went to investigate. And when we got there… and **_I_** sawwhat the suspect was about to do… I called in backup, but it would be far too late and we both knew it.” She took a deep breath at the memory of how close she and Shawn and several thousand others had come to dying that day.

Gus’s eyes were wide at what his friend had to face.

“The perp tried to attack us—prevent us from stopping him. He shot me before Shawn could disarm him. I was down and Shawn was alone. I should have been wearing my vest, but like everyone else—everyone _except_ my partner—I hadn’t taken the threat seriously. Shawn tried everything he could but in the end… in the end—when he realized there was nothing else he could do, he looked into the guy’s chest and crushed his heart. He died instantly—his finger still on the switch.”

Everyone was silent for a minute, trying to digest what Mia had just told them. “Shawn saved thousands of lives that day,” she added finally.

Lassiter looked at the facts: the unfortunate, but sometimes unavoidable need to kill in order to save lives. He understood what Spencer had been up against and agreed with his decision—not that he would ever admit it. And he would also never admit that he believed the method Spencer had used—he probably shot the guy.

Juliet was, by far, the most stunned. She hadn’t seen evidence of Shawn’s _other_ talent. (Suddenly the incidents with the coffee cup and the nearly-lost pen were making a lot more sense.) She was trying to come to grips with this new information: the man she was beginning to think of as a good friend was capable of killing with _only his mind_?

Gus was devastated. His best friend in the whole world _lived_ to protect—to solve crime—to make others smile. He lived to make people laugh—even if it was often at their own expense. Shawn’s world was a happy, carefree place, full of life.

Shawn had killed.

Shawn who couldn’t even go _fishing_ because he felt bad for the bait not to mention the fish—had _killed a man_. Gus’s stomach dropped as he thought about the events of the last week. Everything was leading up to a repeat of what Mia had just described. He glared at her, furious. “It’s all repeating! You knew! _Why would you do this to him?”_

Mia just regarded him calmly. “How could I _not_ hire the person most likely to stop a terrorist from killing thousands of people?” Then it was _her_ turn to think about everything that _Gus_ had said. “Wait… **_Where is he_?”**

Gus couldn’t answer because he was very close to making a run for the bathroom. He’d just come to the same conclusion as Mia. He stared at her.

The two detectives had been left behind story-wise and didn’t care for it one bit. Juliet spoke up. “Where’s Shawn now?”

Gus glared at Mia, putting all of his it’s-all-your-fault-if-anything-happens-to-him emotion behind it.

Mia reluctantly accepted the truth of Gus’s glare. “He must have gone after Naijar by himself…”

“Naijar?” Juliet asked.

“Abeed Naijar is the name of our suspect.” She brought the detectives up to speed as quickly as she could. “Shawn divined it last night. He’s American born of Middle-Eastern parents. He’s Harvard educated. Why he’s decided to become a terrorist is still a mystery, and one we may never solve. But—”

“How can Spencer stop this guy alone?”

Mia sighed again. There was so much she couldn’t tell them.

Vick spoke up from her place by the wall. “You have to tell them, Mia,” she encouraged gently. “You know you do.” Vick didn’t know what information the agent was reluctant to share, but she knew all too well the struggle to decide what was ‘need to know’ and what wasn’t.

Mia glanced at her in acknowledgement and spoke. “If Shawn confronts him alone, the best case scenario is that he will be able to restrain Naijar and prevent him from deploying the device. But if he can’t…” She shook her head reluctantly and continued. “When I said ‘triple threat,’ I meant it. Shawn was thoroughly tested by our specialists at the CIA. He is a very gifted psychic and his telekinetic abilities are incredible—off the charts; the best we’d ever seen in fact. But he is also pyrokinetic… He can make fire with his mind,” she explained when she registered their puzzled looks. “Fire is the only effective defense against this type of weapon. If Naijar manages to deploy his device, Shawn can burn off the gas before it hurts anyone… but…” She just looked at them with something like despair in her eyes.

Gus’s heart sank.

The expectant silence was deafening.

“Pyrokinesis is not his strongest ability. And because of that… he was never given any training in using it. What it would cost him to burn off a cloud of that size…” she looked around at each of them. “Even if he succeeds… _It could kill him._ ”

Juliet gasped audibly.

Mia continued. “We _can’t_ let him do this alone. We _have_ to find him. Now.”

Lassiter moved quickly. “What are your potential targets and timelines?” 

Mia nodded, relieved to have a cool head in her group. “When last we spoke, Shawn and I had determined that Naijar hadn’t yet decided on a target, but he had narrowed it down to his top two.” She grabbed for some maps and spread one on the table. “He will either hit here,” she pointed. “The Harbor Festival—he’ll release the gas under the pier.” She pointed to another spot on the map. “Or here. There is a meeting of government and law enforcement representatives from all over Southern California. They are using facilities at the community college. Even just a regular bomb at either location could kill hundreds—including several prominent citizens. This device… The death toll could be in the thousands.”

Juliet asked the question again, “Where’s Shawn, now? Because he would _know_ , right? He would know what the terrorist had decided and he would go there to stop it, right?”

Everyone just looked at her because no one knew the answer to her question.

Gus challenged the agent. “You know what he’s feeling—can’t _you_ find him?”

She grimaced at Gus’s lack of discretion, ignored the shocked and puzzled looks from the detectives, and retorted, “He told you a lot more than he should have.”

“Get used to it.” Gus could be confrontational when the situation called for it. 

“I know _what_ he’s feeling—not _where_ he’s feeling it.” She glared defensively. “I can’t find him.”

Gus, more calmly, put a hand on Mia’s arm. “What _is_ he feeling?”

She just looked at him for a moment. “He is afraid… And he is determined.”

The pause that followed her statement only lasted a split second, because there _were_ ways to find Shawn—easier than locating a terrorist. “Find Spencer’s phone!” Lassiter yelled at a nearby officer.

“Put out a BOLO on his bike?” Juliet threw the statement-turned-question at Gus who confirmed. “Look for a…” Again she waited for Gus to fill in the blanks.

“A 1972 Norton Commando 750.” At Juliet’s odd look he shrugged. “He got a good deal.”

Chief Vick decided it was time she stepped in. “You don’t have time to wait for an answer on either of those. Detective Lassiter and Special Agent Rodriguez, you head to the college. O’Hara, you take Mr. Guster and go to the pier. Both of you will call for backup once you have confirmation of your target. I will get the bomb squad on stand-by—let them know what we think we might be dealing with.”

She was right. It was, by far, the best plan of action, and they moved on it with speed.

TBC…


	10. Chapter 10

oO0Oo

Shawn had driven blindly for hours and was a little surprised to find himself alive and approaching the beach near the pier as the sun rose. While his body may have gone through the motions of driving, his mind had been elsewhere.

He had been reliving his time with the CIA; running through memories he’d shoved so far into the dark recesses of his mind he’d hoped never to see them again.

The memory that had stood out the most was the day he’d left New York. He’d stayed at the hospital until he knew Mia was out of danger. He remembered their final conversation as if it had happened yesterday:

_Mia, still weak and lying in her hospital bed had argued, “Shawn, you’re too good to quit. We need… **I** need your help.”_

_He’d shaken his head and responded, “I can’t do this anymore. And it’s not just because of what I did to Bolibar_ — _although that would be enough… You’re an empath. You may know what people are feeling but you don’t know_ why _. You wouldn’t understand.”_

_“Try me.”_

_He’d taken a deep breath and tried. “Imagine you had a pair of glasses that could see people, see_ through _them. Into their hearts. What they’ve done. The parts that are locked down so deeply_ , _even_ they _are afraid to see. You see them. You carry them. Until the only person you can’t see anymore is yourself.” He’d looked into her sad eyes and declared, “If I don’t stop, I’ll disappear completely.”_

_She had tried to guilt him into staying. “I know what it’s like to live with something no one else has. No matter what it feels like, it’s a gift. And you have a responsibility whether you like it or not. It’s wrong for you to leave.”_

_Shawn had responded drily. “Let he who has no sin… Fairly certain that isn’t you.” And with one last look, he’d turned his back on Mia and the CIA and disappeared into the night._  

Now he was here, under the pier, once again using his gifts to find and stop a terrorist. He’d blindly driven to this spot because he _knew_. He knew Naijar was here. He knew why the man was intent on killing innocent civilians. He even knew exactly where the device was and how much time was left.

Naijar had timed it so that the pier would be full of festive party goers: families, groups of teenagers on school holiday, couples on dates, retirees…

What Shawn _didn’t_ know was how to stop him without ‘reaching’ inside his chest and murdering him in cold blood.

He had one hour and eight minutes to figure it out.

His phone kept vibrating. Why didn’t they understand that at this point, they really didn’t need his phone in order to communicate with him? Mia was the only one who really knew, and she wasn’t using it. She and Lassiter were on a wild goose chase to the college. Well, that was fine with him. He didn’t want them here anyway.

He would do this alone.

No one else would be hurt.

No one else would die.

He turned his phone off.

A vision of Mia falling, her chest marred by a splash of red flashed across his memory. He blinked it away.

Gus and Juliet would be heading in his direction soon. He needed to have this all wrapped up before they arrived. Now if only he could figure out a plan that didn’t involve murder.

Abeed Naijar had his reasons. Shawn didn’t agree with them, obviously, but he understood them. In spite of becoming citizens and raising their children in the good old USA, the Naijars had kept close ties with family back home. Many of them—so many that it made Shawn’s heart ache—had been killed in the fighting in the Middle East. Some were killed by one side some by the other—it didn’t matter. In their eyes, the US forces didn’t seemto be helping much, quite the opposite. In fact, they blamed the US for quite a bit of their personal pain.

The truth rarely mattered in cases like this.

Abeed’s two brothers had joined the military in order to pay for college – never expecting to see action. They had both been killed in the country their parents had worked so hard to escape.

So much violent death – so much anger – so much pain – so much sadness – it had to come out somehow. Sadness always did. And sometimes, as Shawn himself had experienced, sometimes tears were not enough.

So Naijar had built his own WMD. He was determined, Shawn knew, to detonate it – killing himself, the families on the pier, and everyone in a five mile radius. Shawn searched his mind for a chip in his plan, an imperfection in his determination, _anything_ he could use to convince Naijar not to do this horrible thing.

He couldn’t find it.

He turned his mind toward the timer. Forty-three minutes now. Time flies when you’re having fun. Except he wasn’t. The people above his head were. They were having a wonderful, carefree time. They didn’t know they were about to die. Remembering his CIA training, he tuned out their thoughts.

He closed his eyes and ‘saw’ Naijar. The man was pacing, impatient, angry. The sounds of joy above him—to his ears—so horribly unfair.

Juliet and Gus were on their way. He tuned them out too. Their frantic worry for his safety would only distract him.

He had to stop Naijar alone. _But how_? He’d searched the man’s mind for anything he could use to _talk_ him down. But there was no fear, no sense of self-preservation, no hint of regret about what he was going to do.

He wouldn’t be able to talk him out of it.

He had no tools, no way to restrain him. He could knock the guy’s head against one of the pier supports, but he didn’t trust himself not to bash his skull in.

He didn’t know enough about the device to disable it. He’d be just as likely to set it off himself. And if that happened – if the device went off – he knew what he would have to do to contain the lethal gas.

He’d rather not.

As he’d told Gus, the ‘Firestarter’ thing really freaked him out. He didn’t like doing it. And the CIA’d told him it wasn’t his best ability anyway – he had too little control over it – so they hadn’t seen the value in pursuing it either.

Gus and Juliet were almost there, and Shawn reluctantly accepted that he would need their help after all. He would just have to keep things together until they arrived.

If he concentrated hard enough, he could simply hold Naijar still, paralyze him so he couldn’t set off the detonator. Then, once Jules had him in cuffs, he would figure out how to stop the timer. No one would be hurt.

He got as close as he could to Naijar without being seen. He would have to time this carefully.

When Juliet and Gus were less than three minutes away, he reached out with his mind and concentrated. Suddenly Naijar couldn’t move.

Shawn stepped out from behind the piling and Naijar’s eyes widened when he realized what was happening. He opened his mouth. Shawn shut it for him. The stream of hate that was about to spew from the terrorist would not help anything.

“How do you turn it off?” Shawn asked calmly. He knew from his previous experience with the CIA that just asking the question would bring the answer to the man’s mind.

A criminal might be able to keep his mouth shut, but it was another matter entirely to keep your mind from _thinking_ the answer. And that was all Shawn needed.

He was concentrating so hard on Naijar and learning how to disable the weapon that he missed Gus and Juliet’s arrival.

“ _Shawn_!!”

Gus’s shout of desperate fear and worry startled Shawn. His concentration slipped just a tiny bit.

But Naijar was ready. He took full advantage of the slip, freed one arm from Shawn’s control and grabbed the pistol that he’d tucked in his waistband. He pointed it at the intruders and fired before Shawn could stop him.

“NOOOO!” Shawn cried as he watched his best friend fall.

It was all happening again.

oO0Oo

“This is wrong,” Lassiter said to the woman seated beside him as they sped, lights flashing and siren screaming, toward the college.

“What do you mean?” Mia asked.

Lassiter was thoroughly frustrated, not to mention angry. “I looked into what little information you gave us on my own time.” He glanced at her. “You depend far too much on people with so-called ‘abilities,’” he spat the word, “however useful they may be at times. You need to remember good old-fashioned investigation.”

“What did you find?”

When this was all over, Lassiter knew he was going to have to take a personal inventory. He was going to have to accept the fact that while Spencer would never get his _respect_ , he did at least deserve his _acceptance_ as one of the team. The guy was good. And he was willing to sacrifice himself to protect his friends—‘to protect and serve.’ These were qualities that Lassiter could not dismiss. But he was never—ever—going to admit that Spencer was psychic—at least not out loud. This was one case where he would allow himself to ignore the evidence.

You didn’t always need evidence. There _was_ such a thing as a gut feeling. And that was what he now shared with the agent. “Your terrorist isn’t interested in some stuffy old cops and politicians, no matter how great the collateral damage might be—they are not his primary target. This guy is full of hate. He’s going after the happiest place in town and you know it.”

When Mia didn’t immediately respond, Lassiter took it as assent, grabbed the wheel and yanked them into a U-turn.

“This is a huge risk,” she commented.

“Yes, it is,” he agreed.

oO0Oo

Gus fell to the ground and Shawn lost any semblance of control. Without thinking, he started to run toward his friend—no other thought in his mind.

Naijar took off in the opposite direction, reaching into his pocket as he did so. He pulled out the detonator and hit the switch.

Shawn’s mind was roaring and all he could see was Gus crumpled in the sand. But Juliet’s voice somehow got through. She was shouting at him. He turned around just in time to see the device detonate.

“Hold your breath!” he shouted. He lifted his hands and did the only thing he could: He summoned every ounce of energy in his body and threw fire at the gas that was erupting from the canisters.

It worked. The gas was burning off.

But it kept coming. The canisters were quite large and Shawn began to worry that he wouldn’t be able to get it all. He had so little control. He couldn’t regulate or direct the flames. The only thing he could do was keep pushing.

His hands burned. His nose bled. Tears streamed down his face as the heat and light tortured his eyes. His whole body felt like it was on fire. But none of that mattered. Nothing else mattered. Even Gus was forced from his thoughts as he poured more and more flame on the deadly cloud.

His vision was tunneling. He was in so much pain.

He was tiring.

Unable to keep his feet, he dropped to his knees but kept the fire coming.

 _Still_ the gas erupted from the canisters.

He wasn’t going to be able to get it all.

He was beyond exhausted, but he had to keep going.

He had to.

Blood began to trickle from his ears.

He didn’t notice.

He kept going. Kept burning.

The roaring and pounding in his head grew. His vision shrank.

The world faded to black.

Shawn knew no more.

TBC…

Please leave a note if you have a moment, Thanks. Papaya


	11. Chapter 11

_We jump back in time a few seconds to let you know what everyone else was doing…_

oO0Oo

While Shawn fought to contain the deadly cloud, many things were happening around him.

Juliet had pushed Gus from her thoughts and run after Naijar. She’d seen him pull out the detonator. She’d shouted at Shawn. After what Mia had told them, she knew he was now their only hope. She tackled the terrorist only a moment too late. They struggled in the sand until Naijar realized what Shawn was doing.

When he saw that the flames were working and that no one was going to die, least of all himself, all the fight went out of him. Panting, Juliet slapped on the cuffs and held him at gunpoint. She felt the incredible heat from the flames shooting from Shawn’s hands. She watched her prisoner but couldn’t help glancing at her friend.

Lassiter and Mia roared up behind them, driving down onto the sand to get as close as possible. Several squad cars were behind them.

They got out of the car and Lassiter was forced to stop and watch the conflagration and the silhouette of the man in front of it who was its source.

Mia ran to Gus.

Lassiter moved then, too, and went to assist his partner in detaining the terrorist who was now silent: despairing, but docile.

Everyone stayed well away from Shawn. Truth was they couldn’t have gotten close to him if they tried.

“Gus?” Mia asked gently as she carefully rolled him onto his back.

He groaned, regaining consciousness. “That _really_ hurts,” he moaned and slowly reached to pull his shirt open.

Having learned from Mia’s mistake, Juliet had worn her vest and insisted that Gus be provided with one as well. It had saved him. The bullet had struck him center mass and would have killed him almost instantly.

“Shawn?” he asked after touching the bullet lodged in his vest.

Mia just nodded her head in the direction of the flames.

Gus turned but lay immediately back down in pain. Ribs broken by a bullet fired from near point blank range prevented that particular movement. When he did manage to get himself in a position where he could see, he just stared.

Mia slowly stood and approached Shawn.

They all watched as he dropped, exhausted, to his knees, the flames pouring from his hands still consuming the gas.

Mia tried to shout encouragement to him but knew there was little chance that she would be heard. Her empathic sense told her that Shawn was desperate, terrified, exhausted, and weak. And he was getting weaker by the moment.

She sensed Gus at her side and was impressed with his ability to stand. She felt his fear and his sadness.

“Is this it?” he asked her timidly. “Is Shawn going to die?”

Mia swallowed. “I don’t know, Gus… But he’s saving us. All of us. And them, too.” She gestured at the pier above their heads and the city of Santa Barbara.

Gus took two steps closer, needing to get as close as he possibly could. If Shawn were to die, he would not die alone. Mia felt some of his fear be replaced by steely determination.

Gus closed his eyes and sent thoughts of encouragement, support and friendship towards his buddy. _‘I’m here, Shawn. We’re all with you.’_

It dawned on Mia that what Gus, by simple instinct, was doing could make all the difference for Shawn. She immediately began telling everyone not otherwise occupied to do the same. Juliet immediately left Naijar in Lassiter’s custody and went to stand with Gus. They supported their friend the only way they could.

Finally the canisters were empty.

The flames still continued, and they realized that Shawn was no longer aware and was simply desperate to go on for as long as he possibly could.

A moment later, the flames began to sputter and finally died.

Shawn collapsed onto the sand and lay still, his body smoking slightly.

oO0Oo

Everyone stood frozen, uncertain what, if anything could be done.

The cruiser with Naijar secured in the back seat left to take him to prison. They would hold him at the SBPD until the CIA could deal with the situation.

As that vehicle left, several officers watched as a dark colored and over-sized ambulance arrived bearing CIA medical personnel. The staff immediately began unloading specialized equipment to deal with the situation.

Everyone else looked at Shawn.

Shawn did not move.

Gus tried to go to him.

Mia came and stood next to Juliet. “He won’t be able to reach him. The heat will not dissipate for a while yet.”

Juliet heard something in the agent’s voice and looked over at her. She was surprised to see tears rolling down Mia’s face.

Gus desperately wanted to know if his best friend lived, but it was like trying to touch a coal at the center of a bonfire. The flames might be gone, but the heat remained. He called Shawn’s name, trying to wake him, but there was no response.

Mia cleared her throat and continued, her eyes never leaving the form on the ground. “A trained, experienced pyrokinetic would be able to control the flame; would have destroyed the gas more efficiently and with less effort. Shawn…” She sniffed. “Shawn could only throw everything he had at it… Maybe more than he had to give.”

Juliet listened in dismay. “Is there anything we can do?”

“What—like throw a bucket of water on him?”

Juliet was shocked at her sudden callousness.

“I’m sorry,” Mia whispered to her, and closed her eyes. “There’s nothing we can do but wait.”

Gus _couldn’t_ wait. Finally he forced himself to ignore the heat and knelt next to Shawn. He could feel his knees burning from the heat on the sand. He did his best to ignore the pain. He tried to press his fingers to Shawn’s throat but had to snatch them away because it hurt to touch him. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to try again. He hoped he would be able to detect a pulse before his fingers were too badly burned.

“Gus!” Mia called to him in protest. “Don’t! You’ll—”

“He’s alive!” Gus cried. “He’s got a pulse.”

Relief rippled through everyone except Mia, who knew all too well that Shawn was not yet out of danger.

Then two of the CIA paramedics pulled Gus away and began to treat him for first and second degree burns, and see to his ribs as well. They wanted to take him to a hospital for further treatment, but he wouldn’t leave without Shawn.

Finally, the medical personnel were able to get close enough to wrap the limp form in fire blankets and lay him on a stretcher.

They took him and Gus into their ambulance as others worked to contain the scene. Mia took out her phone and contacted the proper authorities to take care of processing Naijar.

Juliet moved closer to the ambulance, hoping to get some news.

Lassiter came to stand next to Mia, who finished her calls and also watched the bus.

“He’s not out of danger is he?” Lassiter asked, knowing from her stance, and the motions of the paramedics that things did not look good.

Mia shook her head. “ _This_ is the hard part.”

Lassiter glanced at her in confusion. He, like everyone else, had thought the worst was over.

She explained. “While he’s producing flame, his… his body’s natural defenses are at their highest.” She kept looking towards the ambulance but tried to explain. “When he collapsed, he didn’t even have burns.” She gestured toward the ambulance. “Now he does. Like I said—he wasn’t trained in this. And… it’s going to get worse before it gets better.” She paused. “He’s not out of danger, no,” she finished quietly.

“Shouldn’t they be getting him to a hospital?” Lassiter asked, thinking it odd that the ambulance showed no signs of moving.

Mia shook her head, but couldn’t tear her eyes from the ambulance. “When a man has a fever of 102, you can take him to the hospital. When his fever is more like 202… you can’t. _That_ **_is_** the hospital. Don’t worry. It is very well-equipped, and those people are well trained to deal with this. Excuse me, I need to go.”

Just then one of the paramedics stuck his head out the door and shouted, “Special Agent Rodriguez!”

Mia ran towards the ambulance and entered just as Gus walked gingerly down the steps. Juliet came to meet him and took his elbow. One arm was tight against his ribs, and his left hand was heavily bandaged where he’d burned it touching Shawn. When he met her eyes, his were red rimmed and bleak. “It’s bad, Juliet. They don’t know if…” He swallowed and looked back at the ambulance, watching as Mia went to Shawn.

“What’s that about, I wonder?” Juliet mused.

“They were talking about that,” Gus provided. “You know the ‘connection’ they have?”

She nodded.

“They think she can help him. Make him strong enough to… to survive.”

“I really hope they’re right,” Juliet murmured.

oO0Oo

Throughout the day, while things inside the ambulance moved with the speed of a controlled desperation, things outside were quite the opposite. Slowly, meticulously, the scene was processed and cleared.

By sunset, you would never know that anything unusual had occurred under the pier. The carnival was in full swing above their heads, but underneath, all that remained were three vehicles: a dark red sedan, a tiny blue coupe, and a black, oversized ambulance. There was also a large scorch mark on the underside of the pier and bits of glass scattered in the sand; Bits that were actually sand melted in the heat of saving the city.

Four people milled about. Buzz had taken it upon himself, with the Chief’s permission, to remain and provide food and drink and anything else needed to Lassiter, O’Hara, and Gus.

The two detectives had tried several times to get the injured member of their team to go home, but there was no way Gus was leaving without knowing if Shawn would survive.

Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, the door in the back of the ambulance opened and one of the doctors stepped out. He looked exhausted.

The four who kept vigil gathered around him. “I wanted to let you know as soon as I could that we are fairly confident that Mr. Spencer is going to make it. It was touch and go there for a while, but with the help of Special Agent Rodriguez, we feel he is relatively stable.”

Gus closed his eyes and concentrated on keeping his breathing even. Juliet smiled as tears of relief filled her eyes. Lassiter cleared his throat and asked, “What happens now?”

“We will continue to monitor him for a few hours yet, but then, if things continue as we hope, he will need someplace to recover; someplace quiet where he can be constantly watched. He may not regain consciousness for several days, but don’t worry. If there is any change, or if he takes a turn for the worse, we can be on scene in less than an hour.

“If you _need_ it, we can also provide nursing care in whatever location you choose, but that is not medically necessary. Agent Rodriguez led me to believe he probably has enough friends to cover his care.” At that the doctor smiled wearily, letting his listeners know he was human after all. “That is somewhat unusual for my patients—and it’s nice to see.” He nodded at them. “Is there some place you can prepare for this? Some place where Mr. Spencer can be cared for over the next week or so?”

Lassiter and O’Hara looked at Gus.

Gus looked back at them for a beat before nodding. He closed his eyes and sighed, “Somebody’s going to have to tell his dad…”

TBC…


	12. Chapter 12

In the end, it was Mia who met with Henry Spencer. The doctors agreed that Shawn was stable enough that she could leave his side for a short while.

Gus went along, shaking in his boots, and introduced her. He explained to Henry that yes, Shawn had worked with the CIA during his years of travel, but there was quite a bit more to the story and that it might be a little hard to believe.

Thankfully, Mia had experience informing family members that one of their loved ones was ‘gifted.’ She sat down with Henry in his living room and told him as much of the story as she could while Gus paced in the background.

Henry shared a look with Gus. He had agreed to cover for Shawn with the SBPD in the hopes that his son would finally have a stable job. But this was so much more.

As it turned out, Henry had a surprise for them as well.

“My grandmother claimed she was psychic,” Henry admitted. “I was just a kid at the time, so at first, I believed all of it. When I got older I began to doubt. It wasn’t until I made detective that I really dismissed her stories. It was ridiculous; no one believed her.”

Mia smiled gently, and Gus suddenly realized she was ‘reading’ him. “But you knew there was more to it than everyone else thought,” was her leading comment.

Henry nodded reluctantly, not meeting their eyes. “Because of Shawn. There were a few occasions in Shawn’s childhood where he’d do something, or know something that gave me pause. And when he started this whole ‘psychic detective’ thing, I wondered… but I wasn’t about to give him any ideas. The kid’s got a big enough ego as it is, so I never told him about his grandma.” He frowned suspiciously. “Why are you here telling me this?”

It wasn’t until they finally explained _why_ they were telling him all this _now_ that Henry got… upset didn’t quite cover it. Red-faced furious got closer.   “What do you mean, Shawn almost _died_ and this is the first I’m hearing about it? You’ve got to be kidding me! What kind of operation do you run? A _terrorist_? You let _my son_ go up against a _terrorist_ without any of the necessary training or any help at all?” He’d stood at that point and walked away from her, rubbing a hand over his head to try and get himself under control.

It was a lot to take in all at once. Shawn was psychic—really psychic—and some other abilities too, apparently. But he’d gone up against a terrorist—and not for the first time!

He’d been hurt - nearly _died_ stopping him. And now he needed a place to recuperate… It was time for Henry to take charge.

“Of _course_ he can stay here. As long as he needs. _I’ll_ watch over him. In fact, you bring him here _now_. Right now. I’ll take a lot better care of him than you have.” Then he walked up to Gus and leaned in. “You’re lucky you’re injured.” He glared as he spoke softly and pointed at Mia. “ _Her_ I can almost understand—but _you_ … you should have told me.”

“I… I…” Gus stuttered.

Henry waved a hand at him dismissively. “Forget it.” He turned to Mia. “How soon can you get him here?”

Instead of answering, she picked up her phone.

Henry nodded and went to prepare Shawn’s room.

oO0Oo

To keep nosy neighbors away, the CIA would not be bringing Shawn home until after dark, so once his room was ready, the three went down to the boardwalk to be with him. Mia, for one, had no choice; Shawn needed her if he was going to continue to improve.

Knowing that he was stable and in good hands, the detectives and Buzz had finally left to attend to their duties. 

There wasn’t much extra space in the truck, so Gus sat with Shawn while Mia and Henry sat on a bench a few feet away.

Mia was concentrating so much on Shawn that Henry finally asked, “What’s your connection to my son?”

She smiled but did not look away from the man in the bed. “All our so-called classified information has been spewing all over the place, so I might as well tell you… I’m empathic.” And she spared a ‘reach’ in his direction to feel how he was taking the news.

“Huh.” Henry commented drily.

One of the doctors was just walking past and overheard the exchange. “Special Agent Rodriguez saved Mr. Spencer’s life. He’s very lucky she was here.” And he went on to check Shawn’s vitals.

Mia snorted at his words as she was pretty sure Shawn wouldn’t agree. She may have saved his life, but he wouldn’t be in that bed to begin with if not for her.

But Henry looked at her with new respect. “What did he mean by that?”

‘Need to know’ had been tossed out a window a long time ago. “As an empath, I can feel it when someone is dying, and sometimes… sometimes I can pull them back.”

Henry swallowed and quietly asked a question to which he wasn’t at all sure he wanted to know the answer. “How close was it?”

Mia continued to concentrate on Shawn. “Close...” She whispered, then tried to explain. “Normally, I ‘feel’ others sort of like a tv playing in the next room—or several tvs as the case may be. When I concentrate on someone, I’m pulling that ‘tv’ in front of me. When someone is... leaving us, it’s like the volume is being turned down, and the tv is being dragged away.” She paused as she thought about just how close it had been. “With Shawn, there was very little for me to grab hold of… I couldn’t hear him at all at first.” She glanced at Henry, tears in her eyes again. “He’s fighting hard to get back to us.”

The three sat quietly then, until evening, when it was time to move. In the interest of secrecy, they brought a still-unconscious Shawn in the back of a black SUV instead of the huge ambulance.

Henry watched, arms folded and frowning, as they carried his son on a gurney through the house, up the stairs, and settled him in his childhood bed. As they set up his IV and the small machine that would monitor his vitals, he studied Shawn. His hands and forearms were bandaged, and he looked as if he had sunburn, but where his skin wasn’t red, it was very pale. Deeply unconscious, he did not move or react in any way as they made him as comfortable as possible in the twin bed with the Spiderman sheets.

When they were finished, the same doctor that had reported to the others paused by Henry’s side. “Shawn’s condition is stable, and we have every reason to think he will continue to improve. If there is any change medically, the monitor will let us know remotely, and someone from our department will be here within the hour. In the meantime, the best thing you can do is simply have someone here with him 24/7. He can tell. And believe me, for someone like him, it makes a difference.”

Henry nodded his understanding. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d held vigil at his son’s bedside.

“Did Agent Rodriguez inform you of their connection?”

Henry frowned at that but nodded.

Dr. Stevens returned the nod confidently. “Make sure she is with him tonight. Her abilities strengthen his.” He paused as he turned to leave. “Your son… is a hero. We are indebted to him.” When Henry just frowned again, he continued quietly. “I have family here in Santa Barbara. My kids were at that carnival. They would have been killed if—” He had to pause and swallow before continuing. “Thank you. And please, thank _him_.” And with one last nod, he departed.

When all was quiet, Henry sat down on the edge of Shawn’s bed and rested a hand on his shoulder. There were so many things he’d wanted to say to Shawn since their lives had drifted back together. It frightened him to think he’d nearly lost the chance.

It certainly _wasn’t_ the first time he’d sat and watched over Shawn as he recovered. But every other time, his son’s injuries had been due to some ‘great (insert stupid) idea’ that had gone wrong. Never before had he thought of Shawn as a hero, someone who would sacrifice himself to save others. He was ashamed that he had expected just the opposite from the rebellious son who had run away from everything. 

Who was this person lying in the bed? Was it possible that some of his training had actually sunk in? Was he really psychic? More importantly, _could he really rebuild his relationship with his son?_

He had a chance. And he was going to take it. He spoke gently. “Welcome home, kid.”

oO0Oo

A few hours later, the house was quiet. Gus had gone home and Henry was downstairs eating a late supper. Mia was sitting beside Shawn’s bed, holding his hand. She concentrated on their connection, on bringing forth his abilities to heal. It was almost refreshing to be connected to him when he was unconscious. In this state he was emotionally still.

She had felt Henry’s roiling emotions earlier as he’d sat with his son. They were so similar to Shawn’s own. Tears came to her eyes as she accepted how jealous she was of Shawn.

But then a new set of emotions intruded. She looked up surprised when Juliet walked in.

The detective smiled gently at her. “I was on my way home and wanted to make sure he was settled. I spoke to his father and let him know that I will be over tomorrow after work to sit with him, give you two a break. I’m sure Gus will be here as much as he can, too.”

Mia nodded, but Juliet sensed sadness in her.

“Hey—I’m not empathic,” she smiled wanly. “But my detective senses are telling me something’s wrong. Is it Shawn?” she asked softly.

Mia returned the smile. “No. He’s getting better.” She smoothed his hair back from his forehead gently with her other hand before continuing. “ _This_ is what I wanted,” she said softly, sadly. “What you have here: the team, the friendship, the support. My job can be lonely.” She continued without taking her eyes from Shawn’s face. “I had it with Shawn—a _real, meaningful_ partnership. He’s a good person… a good friend. I confess I came here intending to take him away with me. But I can’t. Not now. Not when I know how he feels… He belongs here. Being an agent would take too much from him: too much out of him; too much life, too much fun. He needs this. Needs you. He needs to fix things with his dad. What I do… the effect I have on him… it’s not fair to him. I have to leave.”

“You can’t.” Juliet protested, knowing she was helping him heal.

But Mia just shook her head sadly. “He’ll be fine. I’ll stay tonight to make sure, but in the morning, I’ll leave.” Then she did glance at the detective. “When I’m gone, his abilities will fade,” she warned, careful not to disclose that without her empathic abilities to bring out his latent psychic-ness, Shawn wasn’t really psychic at all. “He’ll go back to what he was before.” She looked back at Shawn and brushed a stray lock off his forehead. “Sorry. But at least the headaches and nosebleeds will fade, too.”

Juliet frowned to herself. She’d had no idea of the depth of emotion between the two other people in the room. “Were you romantically involved? 

Mia almost laughed. “Are you kidding? It’s only now, when he’s deeply unconscious, that I can physically touch him at all! No. We were just good friends. At least… we were… until…”

“Until things went horribly wrong,” Juliet finished for her.

Mia only nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

Mia swallowed. “Me too.” But then she continued, “Thanks for being there for him.” She slid a sly smile at the young, pretty detective. “Don’t tell him I told, but he likes you.” And then she grinned when Juliet blushed. “Don’t worry—I didn’t tell him you like him, too.”

Now seriously uncomfortable at being presented with a fact she hadn’t even admitted to herself, she stood. “You’ll be here all night?” she asked, changing the subject.

Mia nodded. “And in the morning, I’ll be gone. You won’t see me again... _He_ won’t see me again—not ever,” she finished sadly.

Juliet looked once more at Shawn. “Thanks for helping him,” she said. “Sincerely. Thank you.” And then she left, leaving the two of them alone.

TBC…

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N I want to apologize to those of you that liked Mia. I don’t usually write OCs unless I need them for a specific purpose. Also, I figure that since I am borrowing these characters, and usually putting them through the wringer while I have use of them, I had better do my best to put them back the way I found them. It’s only common courtesy after all… That being said, I’m working on a story right now, where I break both those rules. We’ll see if I can get it finished._

_And now, I give you the end…_

oO0Oo

Two days later, not much had changed in the small bedroom on the second floor. Shawn still had not regained consciousness, although he was doing much better. His bandages had even been removed by the CIA med-tech that stopped by once a day to check on him. His burns were nearly healed. 

Henry would sit with him in the night, and Gus and Juliet split up the days as best as they could.

Usually Juliet came alone since her partner didn’t understand why she came at all, but on this occasion, she and Lassiter had just finished lunch and were in the neighborhood. She convinced him to stop by during their break to give Gus a chance to get something to eat. Henry was getting some much needed sleep.

Juliet had just stepped out of the small bedroom to take a phone call when Shawn began to stir.

‘ _Oh- that’s just great!_ ’ Lassiter thought to himself. ‘ _The minute O’Hara leaves me alone with Spencer, he makes the first move he’s made in seventy-two hours… typical._ ’ “O’Hara!” he called towards the hallway, hoping his partner would reappear soon. She didn’t.

The wounded man continued to stir. “Mmph… Guh...” He was clearly trying to wake up, but it wasn’t going to be easy for him, and Lassiter had no intention of assisting.

But Spencer continued to struggle. Groaning, trying to form words as if trapped in a nightmare, he began to move his arms as he became more agitated. His eyes remained closed.

 _“O’HARA!”_ Lassiter called again, knowing his partner was _so_ much better equipped to deal with Spencer.

She still didn’t appear.

Finally Lassiter was afraid the patient would pull out his IV or disturb the leads, so he leaned forward and put a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Spencer! Calm down,” he said firmly, hoping his words would get through—the guy was supposed to be psychic after all. “Spencer!”

“Guh… _Guh_ … _GUS!_ ” Shawn’s eyes flew open and he would have sat up and probably thrown himself off the bed if not for Lassiter’s firm grip on both his shoulders, holding him still. The younger man’s eyes locked on his with a desperation he’d never seen from Spencer before.

The head detective made a living out of reading people’s expressions, and the emotions in the younger man’s eyes were quite clear: sadness, guilt, and most of all fear.

Then Lassiter realized. In Shawn’s last cognitive moments, he had seen his partner go down with a bullet to the chest. The emotions that would have filled his own heart had O’Hara been shot suddenly flew through him and he looked at the kid with sympathy. “Guster’s fine,” he said clearly and simply, his calm gaze locked with Shawn’s desperate one. “O’Hara made him wear a vest. Broke a rib or two, but he’s _fine_.” He held Spencer a beat more before releasing his shoulders and sitting back.

Shawn blinked.

“Gus is okay,” Lassiter repeated more gently.

“Lassie,” Shawn whispered, although it was closer to a whimper, and for the first time the nickname sounded in the detective’s ears more like a term of endearment than an insult.

The Head Detective almost smiled. Almost. He grimaced and shook his head instead.

O’Hara poked her head in the door. “Shawn!” she said gently but joyfully.

She moved into the room and glanced at her partner as he gave up his seat to her. Her full attention was on Shawn. “It’s good to see you awake. How are you?” she asked as she sat in the chair her partner had eagerly vacated.

“I’m gonna get some… coffee…” Lassiter mumbled as he made for the door as quickly as possible.

Shawn watched him, a sly smile on his face. He’d caught the detective ‘almost’ liking him—and that was not something he’d forget for a while…

But Jules was talking to him. “How do you feel?”

Shawn considered the question. His first thought—and in fact, the thing that had filled his dreams while he was unconscious—was Gus.

“Is Gus really okay?” he asked, not quite able to dismiss his fears yet.

Juliet smiled, “Yeah—he’s fine. He’ll be here soon. He has spent every moment that he possibly could at your side. More importantly—how are _you_?”

Now that he had _that_ question answered, he was filled with almost overwhelming relief… _and_ he was finally able to think about other things.

How _did_ he feel?

Physically, he felt pretty good. The pain from his rapidly healing burns was almost completely gone, and thanks to his—and Mia’s—‘abilities,’ he wouldn’t even have scars.

Mentally? He reached out. All was quiet. He felt… empty. And a little bit… sad.

“Mia’s gone,” he said simply in response to Juliet’s question, as if that explained everything.

Juliet’s expression softened at that. She held his hand again and Shawn decided he would have no trouble getting used to having her hand in his.

“Yeah,” she spoke softly. “She said I should tell you that she was going away and that she would not be coming back. I got the impression that she understood that _this_ was where you belonged.”

Shawn looked at her very seriously as he let that thought sink in. Mia was gone for good. The idea made him a little bit regretful but mostly relieved. He really couldn’t be around her—his ‘duty to his country’ notwithstanding. He was thankful that she finally accepted that. He felt sorry for her, but he wasn’t the one that could help her. He sincerely hoped she would find a place where she could be happy.

But then—because he was Shawn Spencer and had no interest in being anyone else, psychic or otherwise—he put aside all this serious stuff about destiny and desire and went with what Jules had given him. “Where I belong?” he quipped. “Jules… Spiderman sheets? My old bedroom? I don’t know if _this_ is really where I belong.”

And when she giggled (Shawn loved her for that), he continued. “How _did_ I get here, anyways? My dad’s house?” He cringed, thinking about the talk he’d eventually be forced to have with dad. “This is kinda weird, Jules…”

But she just grinned, and proceeded to explain.

Meanwhile, Lassiter was drinking his second cup of coffee and thinking about the man upstairs. He still couldn’t accept that Spencer was really psychic, but it was difficult to just dismiss everything he’d seen. He came up with a test that would decide everything for him. He would walk into the room thinking. ‘I want to be more like Shawn Spencer.’ It wasn’t true of course, but if Spencer ‘heard’ it, he would not be able to resist responding to it, and Lassiter would know the truth—one way or another.

He grinned to himself, satisfied with his plan, and went upstairs.

Entering the sick-room, he paused and ‘thought’ towards Spencer for a moment. Both occupants of the room looked up when he came in.

“Carlton?” O’Hara asked when he just stood there and said nothing.

Then the head detective surprised them by grinning widely and saying, “I knew it!” Noting their looks, he cleared his throat and continued, “We need to get back to the station, O’Hara.”

She nodded, reassured the once-again-fake psychic that his partner would be back any minute, and told him she was glad to see him feeling so much better. With a pat on his shoulder, which the man clearly enjoyed, she got up to leave. Lassiter rolled his eyes.

Shawn waited until they had left the room before grinning to himself. Mia might be gone—and his abilities certainly were fading fast—but he’d just barely been able to ‘hear’ Lassiter’s little test.

Ammo with which to torture him at a later date…

oO0Oo

Twenty minutes later, Gus arrived.

He would have been there sooner, but Juliet had called to let him know that Shawn was awake. Knowing his buddy would likely be hungry, he’d stopped for pineapple smoothies, large.

When he walked in, he was relieved to see Shawn sitting up in bed, reading an old _Teen Beat_ and grinning like trouble had never darkened his door.

Shawn had heard Gus arrive and had plastered the grin on his face. He knew he couldn’t be truly happy until he saw for himself that his best friend hadn’t been permanently harmed because Shawn couldn’t protect him. When Gus walked in, he studied his movements carefully; noted the way he moved stiffly and held his torso as still as possible as he came and sat next to the bed. Gus was in some pain, that was certain, but Shawn could tell it was nothing that wouldn’t heal. He vaguely regretted that he was unable to express any of his concern, but really, he was more interested in the smoothies. He was starving!

“Aw, Gus—too bad you didn’t get one for yourself!” he said as he dropped the magazine, grabbed both smoothies and quickly took a sip from each straw.

Gus just shook his head and sucked his teeth. “Shawn!” As usual, he saw through Shawn’s antics with no trouble at all. Their concern for each other wasn’t something that could be expressed adequately in words anyhow. Then, out of curiosity, he ‘thought,’ _‘Are you still psychic?’_

Shawn could still ‘hear’ a quiet whisper of his friend’s thought, but knew that in just a few hours, he wouldn’t be able to sense anything at all, so he ignored it, preferring instead to suck steadily on his pineapple deliciousness.

Gus could admit to being somewhat relieved when Shawn didn’t respond. As cool as it was to have a buddy with superpowers, he was very glad to know that things were completely back to normal.

oO0Oo

In less than a week, it was as if Mia had never appeared.

Lassiter still complained that Shawn couldn’t _possibly_ be psychic, but people were dismissing his complaints now, and that was just about as perfect a situation as Shawn could ask for.

He was surprised that he actually hadn’t hated his time over at his dad’s. He wasn’t quite as horrible or unreasonable as Shawn remembered him. Maybe it would be sort of cool to reconnect with the old guy—as long as they didn’t have any heart to heart conversations…

As an added benefit, Gus seemed completely on board with the whole detective agency idea now, which was awesome! They had even had a new case. Interim Chief Vick had called them in to investigate the theft of some computers from a local high school. Of course, Shawn had picked up on the fact that an extremely expensive engagement ring had been stolen and everyone was keeping it very hush-hush. _That_ case sounded much more interesting not to mention better paying. He was pretty confident that he could solve both _and_ get to know Juliet a little better in the meantime.

All in all, Shawn Spencer was having the time of his life.

oO0Oo   
The End   
oO0Oo

 

There you go. Thank you for coming along for the ride. I really hope you enjoyed my little story. Please take a moment to leave a note if you did.   
Thanks!   
Papaya


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